Goddamn This Cursed Iron Fist
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "Here in the Dark Side of Me." Following the unspeakable horror of her night with Dean Ambrose and Antonio Cesaro, Molly Parker makes the important decision to leave - but will Dean allow it? Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

A bright ray of sunlight across his face awoke Dean Ambrose the following morning, and he immediately began cursing. Not entirely aware of where he was, he managed to roll away from the light and promptly fall to the floor.

It took him several moments to register that he was, in fact, in his living room and had previously been on the sofa. And that he currently had the worst headache of his life.

Stumbling to the bathroom, he surveyed the damage critically. Someone had tried to get the better of him last night, but judging by the aching in his hands he gathered that he'd been the victor. He turned his face from side-to-side, studying the black eye and the swollen jaw that were his souvenirs of a night he was only starting to remember in flashes.

He hung his head, gripping the sides of the sink as tightly as his battered hands would allow. Molly and Barrett, he thought bitterly. What a fucking mess.

He stepped into the shower and tried to wash away everything. He wanted to come out of that small compartment a new man; he had never before wanted so fervently to be someone else. He washed and washed again, not knowing that while he did Antonio Cesaro left the house with a great deal of satisfaction and Molly followed suit not long after in a great deal of pain.

Unable to delay the inevitable return to reality any longer, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. "Molly," he yelled hoarsely, wincing as the sound of his own voice rattled through his pained head.

She didn't answer. He tried yelling again before remembering that he'd threatened her quite severely yesterday and she was probably in a mood. He rolled his eyes. Just what he needed this morning.

He did his best to curb his annoyance as he climbed the stairs. He was smart enough to realize that if she dared not respond to him, she was either truly frightened or truly angry. In either event, he needed to proceed cautiously to avoid making the situation an even further mess.

She wasn't in their bedroom. That was curious. Even more curious was the fact that the sheets were still in disarray, creating a jumbled confusion of blankets on top of the bed. Molly would never leave the room in such a state.

His annoyance was replaced with cold fear. What had he done to her?

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Someone else. Someone else did something to her and I was too drunk to protect her."

Even he knew that he was lying, but he soldiered on under that premise until the moment he turned around and saw a stack of bills on the dresser. His heart sank and yet he still approached, taking the time to thumb through the hundred pound notes – seven in total – before he noticed the small slip of paper next to them.

"A lovely evening that exceeded my expectations. Many thanks. AC." Dean muttered under his breath. "AC. Who…."

In that moment, it all came back to him with vivid and horrifying clarity.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly sat curled beneath a blanket, staring into the fire wordlessly. The flames reflected in her lifeless eyes, but she did not blink.

"Here, love," Sheamus said gently, prodding her into accepting a cup of tea.

She merely nodded her thanks before turning back to the fire.

He watched her helplessly, at a complete loss as to what he could or should do for her. She had shown up with tattered clothes, falling into hysterics and then falling completely silent, almost to the point of being catatonic.

He realized that he should probably attempt to bring help, but he didn't want to leave her. The more he watched her, the more concerned he became. She was positively covered in bruises and scratches, and a few marks that looked like bites. Every inch of her that he could see, even those under her tattered dress, was marked.

Suddenly, she seemed to snap out of it. She took a shaky breath and took a drink. "Thank you," she said hollowly. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Tell me what happened."

She shook her head. "I don't want to speak of it. Ever."

He could feel his temper rising. "Was it Ambrose?" She glanced at him briefly before looking away again, and that was the only confirmation he needed. Closing his eyes, he battled back his temper. She'd already been dealing with one angry man the previous night; it was obviously not what she needed now.

"Molly, you can tell me. I'm not going to judge you."

She looked at him, surprised. Was it that obvious, perhaps written on her face, that judgment was her biggest fear from him?

"I know you won't," she said after several moments. This was a painful revelation. She had no reason to trust this man – in fact, every instinct told her that she shouldn't – but she found that she did. She believed the simple goodness he projected.

After several moments of working up her courage, she stood and walked over to sit beside him, leaning heavily on his shoulder. He froze for a moment before wrapping his arm around her in a friendly way.

They both stared into the fire, neither sure of precisely what to say but comforted by each other's presence. Molly closed her eyes and felt like she could sleep for the first time since this hellacious nightmare had started yesterday morning.

Without conscious thought, she snuggled into Sheamus and snaked an arm around his waist. His closeness was comforting, his heartbeat gently lulling her to sleep. After a moment's hesitation, he brought his hand up and gently stroked her hair away from her face.

"Well," he said slowly, trying to keep his tone light, "not exactly how I imagined the first time I'd cuddle with you, but I'll take it."

Wrong thing to say. He felt her stiffen immediately and pull away from him, and he mentally began cursing himself.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head.

"Don't be sorry. I'm just an idiot who likes to stick his foot in his mouth." He could feel his face turning red and he wished he hadn't said anything at all. "I'm just…I'm stupid, and I'm sorry," he added lamely. Smooth, Sheamus, he thought.

She managed a small smile in his direction. "You're not stupid."

"I am whenever I get around you. I get all tongue-tied and flustered." The words rushed out of his mouth before he could stop them appropriately.

Her smile fell a little bit. "You shouldn't waste your time with me," she said gently. "I'm…broken. You deserve better than someone who is more-than-slightly used." She looked away, embarrassment and shame falling over her.

He was quiet for several minutes. "If you think I deserve better than you," he started carefully, concentrating hard on not screwing this up, "I'm not sure how well you know me. I'm a bumbling idiot with a bad temper. I'd thank my lucky stars every night I was able to spend with you, even if you think you're broken and even if other men have used you in ways you shouldn't have been."

She looked at him, stunned, and he nodded to show that he was sincere. She burst into tears immediately, and his heart sank. How on earth did he keep saying the wrong things?

But then she fell back onto his chest, clutching him desperately, and he realized that maybe he hadn't said the wrong thing after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean burst into the Barrett household with a head full of rage and a substantial dose of both fear and desperation racing through him.

"Where is she?" He growled at a surprised Abigail.

"Who?"

"Don't fuck around with me, Abby. I'm in no goddamned mood this morning. Where's Molly?"

"I haven't seen her," she replied honestly.

The words barely escaped her mouth before Dean raced off, yelling her name through the house. Abigail was bewildered; she had never seen him act like this before. He had always been calm, collected, even charming at times – never this beaten, angry creature.

She felt a growing sense of horror as her husband – pale, sporting several fresh bruises and cuts, and yet still looking murderous – limped his way out of his study. He didn't spare a glance for her as he went for Ambrose, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.

He caught up to the younger man just as he turned to head back towards the front of the house and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into the wall.

"What," he growled, "are you doing here?"

Ambrose shoved at Barrett, who merely tightened his grip and brought his fist back. "I'd strongly advise against that. Why are you here screaming for Molly? Shouldn't she be in your home? What did you do to her?" He pulled him away from the wall a bit only to slam him back into it.

"Don't make me break another one of your ribs, old man," Dean snapped, gripping the hand wrapped around his collar and shoving it away. "I'll leave you lying in a pool of blood again, only this time you won't be breathing when I walk out."

"Dean," Abigail broke in, sick of this nonsense already, "why on Earth would you think Molly would be here? Why do you think I would allow that?"

Barrett fixed him with a steely gaze. "More importantly, why do you think she would be so stupid as to come to the first place you'd look for her?"

Ambrose felt a snarling smile creep onto his face. "She left me," he hissed. "I have to think she's that stupid if she's dumb enough to think for one minute that she could do that without any consequence."

The enormity of his words hit him in the chest. She had left him. She had just up and walked away without a word. Suddenly he was hit with an itching sensation, as if his skin was crawling with hundreds of insects. His throat went dry, his heart racing in his chest.

He shoved Barrett aside and made his way to the door without another word. Refusing to glance back, he sprinted out and made it half a block before he stopped, gasping for air as if he'd been hit hard enough to have the wind knocked out of him.

Resting his hands on his knees, he bent over and focused on simply trying to get air back into his lungs. It didn't work all that well and instead he expelled the contents of his stomach onto the pavement.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand and slowly began to move once more. He had no idea where to go; not a clue of where he could look for her. She was lost to him, and without her he was lost as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly had cried herself to sleep on Sheamus' chest, exhausted and desperately frightened. She hadn't even begun to process the enormity of what had happened to her last night – it was something she wasn't sure she could consciously think about for a long time.

Unconsciously, however…the events were on a constant replay, a low murmur of background noise in the cacophony of her thoughts. No matter how hard she tried to push it away, it kept bubbling up to the surface and breaking through, the murmur becoming an endless scream.

Sheamus clutched her helplessly while she thrashed in her sleep, trying to wake her up gently. She hauled off and punched him in the jaw. "No no no no no," she shouted in rapid succession, starting to cry again.

"Molly!" He yelled, and that woke her abruptly.

She looked horrified, her hand coming up to her mouth. After a moment of tense silence, she reached out to touch his face. "I am so sorry," she said through tears.

He managed a wry smile. "I've been hit a lot harder by people I liked a lot less."

She closed her eyes, embarrassed once again and still feeling as if she was in a horrible nightmare and couldn't wake up.

"Shower and sleep," Sheamus broke into her thoughts. "You'll feel like a new person. I'll go and get you some clothes so you don't have to keep wearing that."

She nodded reluctantly and thanked him quietly. She wasn't sure why she felt so strange about being in his home as something quite more than a guest. She needed to be here; she had no doubt of that – she was afraid this morning that Dean would come upstairs and decide that she'd been enough trouble to him. She was afraid that he would have killed her if she gave him the opportunity, and she had decided not to do so.

Still, she questioned whether she had made the right choice. He had been enraged last night, and she was positive that it would be worse now that she'd dared to leave.

Trying to push these thoughts aside yet again, she made her way to the shower. The warm water stung her cuts, washing away blood that had long since dried and, on some of the deeper ones, causing new blood to flow.

She bandaged them carefully once she was out, not wanting to bleed all over Sheamus' things. He'd been kind enough; she didn't need to repay him in that manner.

She walked out sheepishly, tightly holding a towel around herself. "Some of my clothes are out for you in the bedroom," he called from what sounded like the kitchen, and she had a notion that he had intentionally made himself scarce. "I know it's probably not what you usually sleep in…."

"It will be perfect," she replied back, a small smile on her face. "Thank you. For everything."

"No trouble," he lied. "Go get some sleep. I'm going to lock up and go confer with…some people." He didn't want to say Wade's name in front of her. "We'll see what we can do about making sure you stay safe."

A lump formed in her throat, both out of gratitude and the idea that she was actually, finally, safe. It had been a foreign concept to her since she'd been ripped from her home earlier this year. The idea that Sheamus would take care of the problem that had been lurking in her life since then – Dean Ambrose – filled her with a mixture of emotions, chiefly relief and absolute, unabashed terror.

It was hard to believe that she'd ever be safe as long as he was still breathing.

Shaking that thought away, she again called out her thanks and made her way to the bedroom. Putting on a shirt of his that went down to her thighs, she slipped into his bed and fell asleep once more.


	5. Chapter 5

Sheamus tried not to be terribly shocked at the state of Wade when he finally made his way there. Truthfully, he'd guessed that whatever happened to Molly had been a direct result of some additional contact with Mr. Barrett.

It reminded him, all over again, that even though she'd come to him in her time of need – she wasn't now and would never be his.

Squaring his shoulders against that painful truth, he returned his mental attention to the matter at hand – calming Wade down once he found out that Molly was at his house.

"Sit down. You go running off now, Ambrose will find out and know she's there."

Wade glowered at him, but cautiously backed away from the door. "Is she…."

"She's banged up, but she's safe for now. We need to get her somewhere he won't think to look for her."

Wade gnawed on his lip for a few minutes, barely able to concentrate on anything beyond the relief that was rushing through him. He'd been terrified for Molly once he'd returned to conscious thought this morning, and Ambrose rushing in as he'd been getting ready to go check on her had done him no favors. In his heart, he assumed that Ambrose was attempting to create reasonable doubt around his involvement when they inevitably found Molly's corpse.

He wanted to tell himself that he was exaggerating, but after yesterday he wasn't entirely sure. He had known that Ambrose was vicious and dangerous before; now he knew with certainty to precisely what extent he was those things.

"All right," he said briskly, trying to snap himself out of this train of thought. He didn't need to worry about how dangerous Ambrose was right now; he needed to worry about making sure Molly was safe until he could be dealt with appropriately. "Staying with you is out of the question."

Sheamus nodded in agreement, although he wanted to argue the point. It was why he had bothered to come here in the first place, after all – she wasn't safe with him right now. "He'll check all of us once he gets his head straight. Drew, me, and Doc are out."

"Obviously she can't come here," Wade muttered darkly, loathing that he couldn't even protect the woman he loved in her time of need. "He'll be back looking for her, and Abigail wouldn't hesitate to go and tell him that she was here."

They half-heartedly tossed a few names around, people that might be willing to help them out in a pinch and that Ambrose wouldn't necessarily think of immediately. But that would involve bringing outside parties into the situation, and that was something both they and Molly certainly wanted to avoid.

Wade finally sighed, rubbing his temples. "Her father's house," he said flatly.

Sheamus glanced up at him. "Do you really think that he won't look there?"

He shook his head. "He will. But he might not think of it right away. It will buy us a bit of time, at least. Parker will be too drunk to even notice that Molly's back, and even if he does – he'll keep his mouth shut if I tell him to."

"I don't like it," Sheamus said warningly.

"Neither do I," Wade replied wearily. "But what other choice do we have?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! I've decided to make it easier on you - instead of new story after new story, I'm simply going to keep adding to this one until the end. So keep your eye out for new chapters! I'm hoping to be posting them relatively frequently. Thanks, again, for all of your support!_

* * *

Molly glanced behind her nervously. It had been so long since she'd walked down this street, and the last time she had….

She pushed those thoughts out of her head and glanced nervously up at Sheamus. He was obviously displeased with this situation, and Molly found that she was too. If – no, when – Dean came, her father wouldn't protect her. Not like Sheamus would.

"Are you sure this is the right decision?" She asked, biting her lip nervously. "Can't I stay with you?"

He was quiet for a minute, his face stony. "No," he finally admitted. "I'm not sure. I just know with certainty that you can't stay with me; he'll definitely come looking for you there. But I think he'll come here, too. We're betting that he won't think of it for a few days, at least, and that should give us some time to figure something out."

They fell silent and for several moments the only sounds they could hear were those of their feet crunching against the path.

"I don't like it," she said suddenly.

"I don't either," he agreed. "But it's the best we could come up with." He paused, slowing to a stop outside of the gate. "Molly," he started, "nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."

She smiled wryly. "I appreciate the sentiment, but how can you be sure? How can any of us be sure?" She glanced up at her father's house, entirely dark, and wondered what was in store for her inside. "If you say it's the best chance we have, then I'll go. But if something happens, if I should…." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Just know that I appreciate everything you've done for me. You're the one man who's shown me consistent kindness and respect since the first night I met you."

Surprising both of them, she stood on her toes and lightly pressed her mouth to his.

Embarrassed by her boldness, she quickly went through the gate and climbed up to the front door without glancing back. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the front door open and made her way into what she hoped would be her safe haven.

Sheamus stood outside the gate for several moments, a small smile on his face. He gently ran his fingers over his lips before he shook himself out of it and began the long walk back home.

Molly passed by her father – snoring on the couch, drunk as usual – and crept up to her old bedroom. Part of her expected that Dean would be waiting for her there, a smug smile on his face and a demonic glint in his eyes. But when she pushed open her door, she was greeted only by an empty room.

Settling on the bed, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She was acutely attuned to every noise, every movement around her, and she wondered how long this would last.

Across town, Dean Ambrose stumbled his way into the bar where he'd first met Antonio Cesaro.


	7. Chapter 7

Truthfully, Cesaro was one of the furthest things from his mind that evening. After all that had happened, he wanted to forget that the man even existed.

His luck simply kept giving out, however, as the Swede was currently at the bar drinking. He cheerfully flagged Ambrose over and he reluctantly went, if only to tell him to fuck off.

He never got the chance. Cesaro started speaking immediately. "Tip of my hat to you, sir," he said with a grin, handing him a beer. Dean elected to hold onto his 'fuck off' for the moment and drank it gratefully. "It is uncouth of me to discuss another man's wife, but Molly is a lovely thing. You have molded her quite well."

Dean snorted, and his drunken mouth spit out the words before he could consciously think. "She's not my wife. And if I'd molded her so well, she wouldn't have left me this morning."

Cesaro looked genuinely surprised. "That is unfortunate. Was her punishment severe?"

"I haven't found her yet."

"But when you do?" The other man pressed.

"I'm in no mood to think on it," Dean growled, and the other man should have taken the hint to leave it alone. But he didn't.

"Disobedience must be punished," he said in a disapproving tone. "If she defies you once, she will not hesitate to do it again – unless you show her the error of her ways."

"I'll handle it," Dean replied coolly before thanking him for the beer and weaving his way back towards a solitary table to be alone with his drink and his thoughts.

"If she defies me once," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Molly had been defying him over and over again, since the first night they met. His little lessons in brutality hadn't been enough to keep her with him. Would further violence really solve the problem?

He had expected, when he started, to relish her pain and to love making her suffer. He found that the opposite was true. He hated this. He hated what he'd allowed to happen to her, and he hated the fact that he had set the wheels in motion to make it happen.

The worst part of it – he didn't blame her for leaving. Not really. He thought, for the millionth time today, of blowing that candle out before he left her alone with Cesaro. He knew that it would terrify her to be alone in the dark with any man, but a man as brutal as he suspected Cesaro was? It was unforgiveable, and he knew that.

If he could just find her. Explain. Apologize.

He took another heavy glug of his beer before the truth hit him over the head, as it had done many times today - it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. She'd never forgive him, and she'd never be with him willingly. Not after this. She had handled his advances, and his brutality, well enough it would seem. He thought because underlying all of that, she might be able to see that there was a genuine caring for her within him. But allowing another man to have her in that way had crossed a boundary that never should have been broken.

He finished his beer and wandered out to the night, unsure as to why he'd even bothered to come out in the first place. Sitting in the house, surrounded by her things, had driven him a little mad he supposed. He couldn't go back there yet.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he began to wander aimlessly.

From the very first night, he had bungled this whole thing. He had no idea why he'd wanted to frighten her so desperately, and he wished every day that he hadn't. Then maybe things could have been different, could have been better for them.

He shook his head. He was drunk enough to be honest with himself – things may have been different, but they wouldn't have been better. He was what he was, and he was usually himself with no apologies. That had all changed recently, and he was hard-pressed to explain what it was about her that caused that.

"Bitch," he muttered angrily, causing a group to glance in his direction suspiciously before hurrying off.

His feet brought him, of their own accord, back to where it had started – back to Tom Parker's house. He stood outside the gate for several moments, unsteady on his feet, staring up at her room unhappily. He put his hand on the gate briefly, nearly pushing it open. He wanted to return to that room and be surrounded by her once more, but he realized that she wasn't there. Whoever that girl had been, she wasn't his Molly – she had been a weak, quiet child; not the beautiful, broken woman he'd grown to love.

Love. That word rang through his head and disgusted him. He really had been drinking entirely too much.

Still, he thought that he could handle at least one more bottle. Anything was better than standing at this gate like a lovesick child pining away over some stupid bitch.

His mind made up, he turned away and walked back to the bar.


	8. Chapter 8

After two days of being cooped up in her old room, Molly supposed she was going a little stir crazy.

Her father had either never been informed or had forgotten entirely about her presence, and she thought it might be safer if he remained in the dark. She discovered the terrible truth after four hours of attempting to keep still while he was up and about during the day – it might be safer, yes, but it was terribly boring. Sheamus had kindly sneaked in several books last night. They kept her occupied for a little while, but she could only sit still for so long.

All of this time alone left plenty of room for thoughts that she didn't want to have. Memories kept intruding; memories of that night with a man whose name she still didn't know. She was still unable to bring herself to think of some of the things that he did to her. But that wasn't necessarily the worst of it. The worst of it was seeing the look in Dean's eyes as he'd blown out that candle. He hadn't been ashamed; he hadn't looked away from her in spite of knowing the special kind of Hell he was sentencing her to with his actions.

He'd stared her dead in the eye, looking almost amused. That had been the worst of it. While he was a man who had previously been brutal towards her, he had been brutal with a purpose. It had all, if she could believe him, been a means to an end. His end had been met; didn't that mean the brutality should stop? Would it ever stop?

She no longer knew what to believe. He said that he would make her life easy, and for a brief time that had been true – until he had twisted it into a further complicated, painful mess.

Of course, she was avoiding thinking about what had brought him to that course of action. She wanted desperately to deny her part in it, but she found that she couldn't.

She still loved Wade. She loved him whole-heartedly and without any hesitation. It was entirely wrong and they could never be together, but she couldn't help loving him any more than she could stop an oncoming train with only an outstretched hand.

If she could have stopped, she would have chosen to do so the moment he refused to divorce his wife. Logically she knew that he wasn't the right man for her if he could turn her away under _any_ circumstance, but to do so over something so base as money and reputation – it was absolutely certain. A painful truth, to be sure, but still the truth.

She shook her head. If she could write the story of her own life, she would have wished to have fallen in love with Sheamus. He wasn't her sort of man – he wasn't dark and brooding with an unflappable sense of nobility – but full of light and goodness. He would have made her the most content woman in the world, and he would have been happy to have her.

Unfortunately, that's not how things shook out in the end. Giving into that fantasy, that illusion that she still had control over this situation, was a very dangerous thing to do.

Flopping back onto her bed miserably, she circled around the same conclusion – she had no choice but to wait and see how this all played out.


	9. Chapter 9

For the second time in as many days, Dean found himself wandering towards Tom Parker's house.

It wasn't something he was doing consciously. He'd been drunk the first night and only realized where he must have been when he woke up passed out on a nearby lawn. Today…he simply couldn't stand to be in his house, and despite his best efforts he couldn't drink all the time. His miserable head tried and failed several times to find another solution, to find a way to bring Molly back so that they could get on with their lives.

Nothing was working. He couldn't sleep. He barely ate. He knew that he was wallowing, and he wanted to punch himself and snap himself out of it – but even that didn't work.

He'd gone and fucked some other woman last night, someone he didn't have to pay for. He'd woken up in a strange bed with a strange woman bustling in the kitchen and had sneaked out the window like a teenaged boy. He couldn't deal with her this morning; couldn't deal with the consequences of whatever nonsense he'd spewed to get her into bed last night.

Now he walked, jacket slung over his shoulder and a mouth that tasted like stale cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey. He walked to stare up at a window he'd first glimpsed ages ago and wonder how in the hell it had all gone so wrong.

"Pathetic," he muttered of himself, disgusted.

Still, he paused at the gate. He stared up at her window. He stood for a long time, watching nothing. Then, just as started to turn away – movement.

He froze. It was a trick of light, he tried to tell himself.

Except it wasn't. The sun was shining through the drawn curtains at such an angle that he could see her, the shape of her, moving across the floor. Back and forth she paced, not sparing a glance towards the street where she would have seen him standing at her gate like a buffoon, his mouth falling open into a perfect 'o' shape.

Moving quickly, he ducked out of sight behind a tree and continued to watch her, his heart racing.

It was impossible. He ticked through it in his head – she hadn't been at Barrett's, the Irishman's, or the Scot's. She hadn't been with Doc. She hadn't even been with the few friends of Barrett's he'd thought to check with.

He never dreamed that she would come back here. Her father had seemed genuinely surprised when Ambrose cornered him in the bar the other evening, asking him in a friendly sort of way where Molly was while he had a knife pressed against his femoral artery. There was no way the man would have lied to him then.

He truly was a useless sod. But his house…his house wasn't useless. And Ambrose could guess that Parker was drunk often enough that he would barely notice Molly's presence if she made an effort to be noticed, never mind if she didn't.

"Shut up shut up shut up," he growled to himself. "Fucking focus."

His hands clenched the trunk of the tree, gripping the bark and feeling it tear the skin beneath his fingernails. It didn't matter how she'd gotten here, it mattered that she _was_ here – and possibly for a limited window of time.

He wanted to rush upstairs now and get her, drag her back home and forget that this mess had ever happened. However, he knew that wouldn't be possible. She'd make a scene and he couldn't quiet her in broad daylight without several unpleasant interruptions.

Still stunned, he stood for several more minutes simply watching her until he shook himself out of it and began abruptly walking down the street out of her potential line of sight.

Shower. Sober up. Sleep.

Tonight was going to be a very busy night indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

He woke up feeling marginally better as dusk was just starting to fall over his street.

Stretching and yawning, he hauled himself out of bed and stumbled his way to the bathroom. He showered again before checking his face critically in the mirror and electing to take the time to shave.

By the time he had put on clean clothes, full dark had fallen. Still, he took his time. He walked slowly to the Parker house, waiting for the inevitable moment he would see someone – Barrett, or the red-headed oaf – rush by with Molly, taking her from him once again.

No one did.

The house was dark when he arrived. Parker was either passed out or at the bar, and Molly wasn't stupid enough to put a light on.

He hopped the gate easily and made his way to the front door. Unlocked. Parker really had no idea what a valuable thing he had hidden away upstairs.

Resisting the urge to call out to her like he had on a night that seemed forever ago, he slowly ascended the stairs, taking care to keep to the edge closest to the wall in order to minimize the creaking of the boards.

Finally, he stood outside her door. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, he tried the knob and was amazed when it offered no resistance.

He expected her to be gone. She wasn't. She was there in her bed, sleeping. Stepping into the room, he closed the door as quietly as he could and studied her by the thin moonlight filtering in through the curtains.

She was sleeping well enough, appearing entirely undisturbed and at peace. Her hair was slicked back, falling in wet clumps across her pillow. She'd managed to sneak a bath. Her left eye was ringed with a fading black bruise and a gash across her cheek was healing. As his eyes continued their assessment, he saw bites, bruises, cuts, and crescent-shaped gouges that looked suspiciously like fingernails had dug their way into her flesh.

Looking at the state of her, he wasn't surprised that she'd left.

A small part of him spoke up and told him that the best thing he could possibly do for her was to leave, right now. Leave the room, walk down the stairs, and back out the front door. Leave her in peace and let her heal; let her go on to lead a life without him.

The rest of his mind rebelled against this rational and oddly compassionate thought and soon other voices drowned out that one – she was _his._ It was his right to take back what was his. She shouldn't have left in the first place. He needed to remind her of her place in the world.

"Molly," he said aloud just as the voices reached a fever pitch.

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to sit upright, clutching a sheet against her chest.

"Get up. You're coming home." He could feel his hands clenching into tight fists. She eyed him warily, but did not move. He took a step towards her. "Now, Molly. I mean it."

Molly wasn't completely stunned – barely surprised, in fact – to see that Dean had found her. The moment had come for her to make a decision. She could either continue letting life happen to her or she could take a stand and decide, for once, to take control.

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head.

"No?" He asked, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. His fists clenched tighter, but she pretended not to notice.

"I handled everything else with good grace," she continued in the same soft tone. "I handled it as best I could. No. Not this."

He fell silent, and she could see his mind working furiously. His head twitched back and forth in an abrupt 'no' motion several times before he spoke again. "Now," he repeated, as if he hadn't heard her. "Get dressed or I'll drag you through the streets in your underwear."

Her heart sank in her chest, and after a moment of attempting to be brave she realized that she simply didn't have the gumption. Regretting every second, she stood and crossed the room to where a few dresses of hers had been stashed. He stood uncomfortably close to her while she dressed, his breath landing on her neck.

Finally, she turned around and he studied her for a moment. "Are you happy with that choice?" He asked, indicating her dress. She glanced down, puzzled, before looking back up at him. "Are you happy with that choice?" He asked again, and she nodded slowly with a growing sense of dread.

"Fantastic," he said, grabbing her tightly by the hand. "The last thing I need is to hear you bitch about what I made you wear to your wedding for the rest of our lives."


	11. Chapter 11

Molly had been sure that he was just trying to frighten her further, and had subsequently begun the walk quietly with him back in the direction of his house.

She discovered how wrong she was when he marched her right up the steps of the nearest church. As he paused to open the door, she attempted to tug her arm away from him.

"I told you what was going to happen," he said calmly, tightening his grip on her. "And make no mistake, this _will_ happen. You say the right words, and I'll be a happy boy. I'll take it easy on you. We can go back to how things were."

"We can never go back to how things were," she said incredulously.

He glanced over at her, his jaw clenched tightly. "Yes, we can. I say that we can. Now move."

She looked to the front of the church, where a befuddled-looking preacher stood at the pulpit, flanked by two men. As they came closer, she saw that one was her father – weaving and glassy-eyed – and the other was the man whose name she didn't know from the other night.

It felt completely surreal. She kept her gaze focused on the floor, barely hearing the words the preacher was saying. Her mind was racing, wondering what she should do – what she could possibly do. She doubted that the mystery man would be on her side if she ran, and her father was of no use. There would be two grown men – two strong, fast, brutal grown men – chasing her down only to bring her right back here.

And after it was done anyway, after they had left…. She didn't want to think about it.

So when the time came, she said the words. Shakily and quietly, but she said what she was supposed to say. She allowed Dean to put a ring on her finger and she put one on his. He kissed her, his lips hard and angry against hers, and it was done.

She was Mrs. Molly Ambrose.


	12. Chapter 12

The weight of the ring felt foreign on his finger, and still did nothing to ease his mind.

He knew that this only solved half of his problem – Molly was his, yes, but for how long? How much longer would he be alive? Between Barrett and the threat of Phil Brooks screaming into his life like a vengeful banshee, he was sure he wouldn't live to see another year.

He shook his head quickly to shake those thoughts away. He had Molly. He needed to enjoy what time he had left with her.

She still seemed shell-shocked, her eyes wide and unblinking. He felt her hand start to shake in his as they approached the house. He would have liked to open his mouth and say something comforting, to soothe her troubled mind and assure her that she would be safe…but he couldn't.

Instead, he picked up her trembling body and carried her over the threshold, bringing her upstairs and depositing her on the bed.

Tears had started to slide down her cheeks. He pretended not to notice.

"Get undressed."

She looked at him with uncertainty. "Why?"

He could feel the annoyance bubbling up in his chest. "I may have had you once or twice, darling, but we still need to consummate our marriage."

He could see the war raging on her face. "No," she finally said, shaking her head.

He felt his shoulders slump. He was in no mood to argue; no mood to cajole and be sweet. He needed to get this done, and get it done quickly. Tom Parker had a big mouth, and the last thing he needed was Wade Barrett bursting in here before it was done.

"Molly," he said, wanting to reason with her and only coming up with, "please."

"I…I can't," she said. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She did indeed look a little green around the gills, and he felt a twinge of sympathy. "Sweetheart…"

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

That is when he finally lost his temper. "Oh for fuck's sake," he snarled, stepping towards her and shoving her down on the bed. She reached up and slapped him, kicking at him angrily.

So this was how it was going to be. He resigned himself to this sequence of events.

Struggling against her for a few moments, he was finally able to flip her over onto her stomach. He pressed his knees against the back of hers to hold her legs down and pinned her hands together behind her back.

"Don't make me do it this way," he said, hearing the weariness in his voice. "Please don't make me do it this way."

Shaking sobs were the only response he received, and so he slowly released her hands. Big mistake, as she immediately used them to try and push herself up and knock him off of her.

"Molly…." He wanted to reason with her, but he was sure that he didn't have the time. He was tired of fighting and simply wanted this whole thing to be over. Once this was done, there was no way to annul the marriage, and he swore that he would never give her grounds for divorce. He'd never hit her again, he'd never run around on her – just this one last despicable act and they could get on with their lives.

That's how he justified his actions as he pinned her down again and rammed inside of her.

"I hate you," she said, in a voice so low he wasn't sure he heard it. She kept repeating those words, louder and louder, interspersed with crying. It made his heart ache with unhappiness, but he kept going.

He tried to remember when they had been together willingly. Tried to remember the soft, warm intimacy of many nights together. But still, overlaying those memories, he heard her voice. 'I hate you,' she said, over and over again.

Finally, he willed himself to have an orgasm and rolled off of her. It was done.

She lay still beside him, crying heartily. He reached out to touch her back, wanting to soothe her, wanting to say 'I'm so sorry; I love you, I did it because I love you.'

But "Molly, I promise you – it will never be that way again," was the best that he could manage.


	13. Chapter 13

At the very moment Dean rolled off of Molly in what he swore would be his last despicable act, Wade Barrett set out for Tom Parker's house.

They had finally found a solution to the problem of keeping her safe. He couldn't say that he liked it, as it entailed sending her off to Ireland to stay with one of Sheamus' friends…but it was certainly better than the alternative.

He hesitated at the door, wondering if he should knock or barge right in. It was his understanding that Tom had been entirely too drunk to remember their conversation several days ago and, as a result, had no idea that Molly was with him. It had turned out well, seeing as Ambrose had cornered the man in a bar and threatened him. Tom had visited him shortly after, full of false indignation and looking for compensation for his "beloved" missing daughter.

Wade had dumped him unceremoniously back on the street. He was finding that his patience, of which he had always had an abundance, was beginning to run thin. Every day it seemed that he was able to tolerate less and less.

Molly was to blame. He was sure of it. Loving someone so desperately, being so close to having everything you never knew you wanted and having it ripped away brutally – it was bound to make a man impatient. It was bound to make a man angry.

And he _was_ angry; he was so very angry. He found himself loathing the world surrounding him. He found himself turning increasingly towards self-destructive behaviors. Just last night, after a few drinks and her incessant verbal jabbing, he'd pinned his wife up against the wall. He wasn't gentle, and he had shown her no mercy.

He tried to console himself with the fact that she never said no. She never refused him outright. She had even shut up for a short time before filling his ears with moans of pleasure, her fingers digging into his back while his mouth marked her neck.

It was only a small consolation. He was sure that even if she had denied him, the darkness brewing inside his chest wouldn't have been satisfied. It wouldn't have cared…and that shamed him deeply.

He briefly wondered if he should be alone around Molly and shoved that unpleasant thought away. He loved her. He would never do anything to hurt her; you didn't hurt people you loved.

Desperately needing to escape these thoughts, he pushed the door open and quietly made his way upstairs, his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of seeing her again. Seeing her for what very well could be the last time in his life.

Sheamus had told him which bedroom she would be in, and he lightly tapped on the door before opening it.

She wasn't there.

In the corner, a small pile of clothing on the floor. One empty hanger in the open closet and two dresses hanging beside it.

A feeling of dread began to creep into his stomach.

No longer attempting to be quiet, he went downstairs in search of Tom Parker.

"Where is she?" He was growling in the man's face several moments later, holding him up by the collar and shaking him.

"Where's who?" The drunkard asked, bewildered.

"Molly!" Wade yelled, his free fist clenching hard enough that his nails bit into the meat of his palm.

"Just got married, didn't she? Why would she be here?"

Wade dropped him. "What do you mean she just got married?"

"The bloke that took her. He came 'round the bar and told me to be at the church; he was marrying my Molly."

"When?"

"Just an hour or so ago."

Wade dropped him abruptly and turned to walk out the door. Ambrose had beaten him here, somehow, and he was doing his best to make sure that Molly would be out of reach.

"Not on your life," he snarled. "Not on your best fucking day."


	14. Chapter 14

The door reverberated off of the wall with a loud bang, and Wade lowered his foot. To hell with politeness. He stormed inside and began to make his way up the stairs just as a shirtless Dean Ambrose came to the landing to investigate the noise.

He grabbed Ambrose by the neck and threw him to the side, pleased by the thud his head made as he hit the wall, refusing to be deterred until he found Molly.

She reached the head of the stairs just as he was three steps from the top. They both froze. In that moment, Ambrose grabbed Wade from behind, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other contorting Wade's arm painfully behind his back.

"Dean! Please!" Molly yelled, clambering the short distance down that she was able. "Please, let him go."

Ambrose froze. It was the first thing she'd said to him after…. Cautiously, he released Wade and stepped back.

"Are you hurt?" Wade asked, directing his full attention towards Molly.

She shook her head, but he could see the bruises and cuts. They'd started to heal, but she still bore the marks of some traumatic experience.

He put his hand out. "Come on, love. I'm taking you home."

"No," Dean snarled. "She's my _wife_. She's staying here."

Wade turned to regard him coolly. "I don't give a fuck," he said simply, turning back to Molly. She was studying his outstretched hand with hope and obvious fear. She glanced behind him, staring at Dean with an unreadable expression on her face.

"What about your wife?" She finally asked, turning her attention back to Wade.

He shook his head. "I don't care."

"Will you divorce her?"

"Yes."

Molly paused. "You had all this time, all these weeks, to end things with her. Why didn't you?"

Wade's hand started to slowly drop. "Are you sure this is the time to discuss this?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. I want to know."

He shrugged helplessly. "I…I didn't expect you to come back."

"You would only divorce her for me."

"Yes."

Molly fell silent, shaking her head. "If I could believe you…." She gave him a sad smile. "If only I could believe you," she said a bit more firmly. "But I can't."

Wade's heart started pounding in his chest. "I understand. I understand completely. But you can't stay here, love. He'll kill you."

"I will not," Dean said indignantly.

"Shut up!" Wade roared over his shoulder. "Molly, please. I know you don't believe me, and I don't blame you for that. I…" he paused, swallowing hard, "I've earned that distrust from you. But you must know, in your heart, that this is a bad idea. Please see the sense in that, even if you feel you can no longer trust me."

She looked away, and he could see the war raging on her face. She wanted to come with him, desperately – but she was terrified.

"I'll keep you safe, I swear to God," he said, a lump in his throat as he stretched his hand out again.

Her eyes flashed at him. "Keep me safe like you did before?" She asked, a small flicker of anger in her voice. "Keep me safe from Mr. Ambrose coming into my room at night? Keep me safe from him taking me from my father's house?"

He shook his head helplessly. "I didn't know. If I'd known…"

"This is all _your_ fault!" She finally exploded. "You sent him into my life, this disease, this _plague_. You brought this on my head, all for your stupid love of money. You gave me hope for an escape and then you crushed it. You crushed me." She looked between Ambrose and Barrett for several long moments, both men frozen with identical expressions of bewilderment on their faces. It might have been amusing if it wasn't so painful.

"I hate both of you," she said, shaking her head. "Fight it out. See which one of you gets me as a prize. I don't care any longer – either result will end in misery for me."

Turning around, she made her way back to the bedroom and slammed the door shut, attempting to lock the world away from her so that she could at least cry in peace.


	15. Chapter 15

The stairwell fell silent, save the faint sounds of Molly's sobs.

Wade turned back to look at Dean, who was just as dumbfounded as he was. To his surprise, the younger man lifted his shoulders and shrugged, his hands spread wide in a gesture of complete and utter befuddlement.

After the night he'd had, it was almost comical. He actually started laughing, plopping down heavily on the stairs.

"In our quest to make her love us, we've made her hate us both," he sighed, shaking his head as his laughter finally died away.

"Sounds about par for the course," Dean said, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you actually going to fight me?"

Wade sized him up momentarily. "No," he finally said. "Would you believe that I don't have it in me right now?"

Dean nodded. "I would."

"What a mess," Wade said, shaking his head. "What a bloody awful mess." He glanced up at Dean again, who was obviously lost in thought, chewing unhappily on his lower lip. "Why did you do it?"

"Which part?"

"Why did you take her?"

His lips flicked up briefly. "It's the same answer I gave you that night – I wanted her. I've only recently come to realize how much."

They both fell silent for several moments. "You know that I can't let you do this," Wade finally said.

"Why not?"

"I can't send her to the kind of life she'll have with you."

"Listen," Dean said slowly, pushing himself away from the bannister with his foot, "I've changed. Well, perhaps not totally – but I'm in the process of changing. Because of her," he nodded up towards the bedroom. "I can promise her, and promise you, that I'll be a not-entirely-terrible husband. Even those moments where I am terrible, I'm going to learn from them. I'm going to keep changing into something I've always loathed the idea of."

Wade raised an eyebrow.

Dean looked him square in the eye. "She's changing me into a good man." He paused, swallowing hard. "Now I can't say that I like it, but I also find myself completely helpless to stop it." He met Wade's eyes. "I promised myself today that I would never hit her again. I'll never force myself on her again. I won't drink, I won't carouse, I'll even stop fighting if that's what she wants."

"Do you really believe that you'll be able to do that?"

"I have to," Dean answered immediately. "The alternative is something I refuse to think about."

Wade stared down at his hands. He hated to admit it, but Dean sounded sincere. "What would you have me do?" He asked helplessly, spreading his hands wide. "What can I do? Molly hates both of us, and I don't doubt you think you're being honest with me – but I still fear for her safety."

"You can give me a chance," Ambrose replied. "You had your chance with Molly, and you elected to turn her out. Let me try, without any interference from you or anyone else. If she still…if you see she's mistreated, I won't argue against her leaving."

Wade sighed, hanging his head as his thoughts battled against one another. Finally, he slowly made his way to his feet. Ambrose looked at him warily, his fists coming up to defend himself, but Wade shook his head.

"At least let me say goodbye."


	16. Chapter 16

Molly hated the fact that her heart soared when Wade walked into her bedroom.

"I take it you've won, then?" She snarled viciously, lashing out at him with all the hurt stored up in her chest – and there was an abundance.

"There wasn't any fight," he replied calmly. "We had a discussion. Things are settled."

"And what is my fate?"

He tried to ignore the bitterness in her voice and made his way to the bed, sitting beside her. "What do you want your fate to be?"

"I want this all to have been a nightmare. I wish I'd never met you."

Those words bore through his chest, but he ignored the pain. "I understand, and I'm sorry. But I'm afraid that you're not going to wake up and be home again. This is the reality of your life." He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. "I wish to God that it wasn't. I wish that you could wake up and be safe somewhere, anywhere but here. I wish you'd never met me, too. Then I wouldn't have had a chance to cause such chaos and pain for you."

He meant it, every word. Even as it felt like they were being ripped painfully from his chest, he continued on with the truth.

"You'll hate to hear this, but I love you. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me, and the fact that I couldn't do the right thing and hurt you so badly stabs at me every day."

She finally glanced over at him, her eyes brimming with tears and her face set in resignation. "You're leaving me here."

He nodded. "I am. Mr. Ambrose appealed to me with the truth – Molly, I had my chance. I failed you miserably. Maybe…maybe you two need each other in some way that I don't understand. In a way that I could never understand."

They both fell silent for several moments. "I don't know which choice to make," she finally admitted.

He took her hands in his. "He's right, you know. I had my chance. Give him his. If…if you're unhappy, or mistreated, I swear that I will find a way to set things right in your life."

Appealing to the woman he loved to be with another man. He gave a mental shake of his head. Love was a strange, hideous thing sometimes.

She looked away from him and nodded, and just like that it was done. She was out of his life, and into the hands of a man he had never trusted before tonight.

He pulled Molly to him one last time and kissed her gently, amazed at the hurt that welled in him. This process, this release of love, was painful and joyous at the same time. He marveled at the idea that these two emotions could co-exist.

They parted from each other, and he flashed her a small smile. "For the rest of my life," he said simply, touching her face and then his heart before standing and making his way out of the room, down the stairs, and out of her life.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean waited several moments before cautiously making his way into their room.

He'd listened to her conversation with Wade, and was still amazed that the man had done right by him. It didn't mean that Molly had listened or accepted it, however, and so he decided to tread lightly.

"Can I…can I come in?" He asked uncertainly as he stood in the doorway. Asking for permission, what a new concept this was.

She looked up at him listlessly. "I suppose. It is your house, after all," she replied, picking at the quilt on the bed.

"Are you all right?" He asked dumbly.

"No," she answered, shaking her head.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be. What a dumb question." He tried to smile at her, but she just stared at him flatly.

"What do you want, Dean?"

He felt uneasy. "I want to see that you're ok."

"I'm fine."

He'd grown up around enough women to know that 'fine' was the furthest thing from her right now, but also gathered that he shouldn't push her towards saying anything else on the matter.

"Molly…I do care for you. I know it seems strange, and I know I'm emotionally…stunted –"

"Just don't," she interrupted, shaking her head. "Once tonight was enough. I can't handle any more."

He snapped his mouth shut, surprised, as she glanced over at him and studied him critically for several moments.

"Let's get a few things straight," she finally said, "I don't love you. I doubt that I ever will. I think you're vile and if you ever come near me again like you did tonight I'll put a knife in your chest while you sleep."

He could feel his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, but he attempted to maintain some control of his facial expressions. "Fair enough," he agreed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. It seemed to be his standard 'serious discussion' pose. "What else?"

She hadn't expected that. It was written on her face. He contained a smile.

"I'll come and go as I please. You won't ask any questions of me. You won't punish me in any way for my behavior. You won't allow others to punish me for my behavior."

His stomach dropped. Cesaro. That was still a lingering issue he'd obviously have to deal with.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you. I'm sorry for what I allowed him to do to you. I'm sorry I…I left you alone with him, in the dark."

Her eyes welled with tears, but she rushed on as if she hadn't heard him. "I'm still going to work with Doc. I like the work and I like the men. You're not going to put a stop to that."

"No," he agreed. "I won't." He studied her for several seconds. "Anything else?"

She waited a few moments before throwing a pillow at his head. "You sleep on the sofa. I don't want you anywhere near me." He caught it easily and stood for several seconds longer. "Well?" She said impatiently. "Leave."

He would have liked to argue against this decision, but felt tonight wouldn't have been the best time to do so. Instead, he took his pillow and went into exile in his own house.


	18. Chapter 18

It had been two weeks, and Molly's injuries had healed completely. On a less pleasant note, Dean had grown accustomed to sleeping on his sofa.

She barely said a word to him. It was growing tiresome, and he found himself becoming increasingly frustrated. He'd been trying so hard to bring her back around, resorting to using tricks he'd seen pathetic men in the whorehouse use – flowers, chocolates, declarations of love – but without touching her at all. The first time he had tried to lightly brush her hair out of her face, she had stiffened and backed away. He knew better than to try it again.

He thought wryly that perhaps he should try throwing a stack of bills in her direction next time. It had seemed to work well in the only example he had.

He really needed to stop thinking of her in terms of the whorehouse.

She was dabbing gently at Sheamus' lip across the room as all of these unhappy thoughts swirled in his troubled head. She only seemed happy when she was here – he could see shades of that shy girl he'd known in her smile…a smile she seemed only to have for the Irishman lately. She looked past him and Barrett both.

He tried not to let it bother him, but privately he wondered if it wasn't time to simply give up. He was certain he had a limited time left, and spending it in this purgatory seemed unnecessarily stupid.

She finished with Sheamus, and he made his way over to her. Without meeting his eyes, she began to tend to his face – the Irishman had gotten the better of him tonight, and he was certain he at least had a broken nose.

He winced as she scraped the cloth against his face, not taking any care. He supposed he deserved it after everything that had transpired between them, but he found his mouth running before he could consciously stop it.

"For fuck's sake, do you have to be so hard?"

She glanced up and their eyes met.

"Please," he added.

She dropped her eyes again and returned to her work, although with a much lighter touch than before.

Cautiously, hardly believing that he was daring to do it, he reached out and placed a hand on her hip. She paused momentarily, but continued working. A small smile found its way onto his lips.

He kept his hand there while she worked on his face, her skin warm even through her dress. He traced that curve with his fingers, hardly able to believe that she was allowing this.

"You're done," she said quietly, taking his hand and putting it back on the arm of the chair. As she went to pull away, he caught her hand and brought it up to his lips.

She watched him warily, but she didn't pull away. He stared directly into her eyes as he pressed a kiss on the back of her hand and then placed her palm on his face. He expected her to pull away then, but she didn't. She instead trailed her fingers lightly over his cheek, her lips curling up the slightest bit as her fingers ran over the stubble on his chin and eventually dropping away entirely.

He stood up and quickly pressed his mouth to hers before retreating quickly.

As it had been so long ago, his night was suddenly filled with infinite possibility.


	19. Chapter 19

"Molly," he said from just outside the door, "can I please come in?"

She warred with herself momentarily before agreeing. While she was still angered by and disgusted with the situation she found herself in, she was also dreadfully lonely. It reminded her of the time she'd lived in her father's house, where he was too often gone and she was left to her own devices…except she'd had run of the house then. Now she was confined to this one room, lest she be set upon by Mr. Ambrose, with his wide eyes and his sugary attempts at apologies.

Now here he was, invading her space again – but she, at least, was allowing it this time.

"What is it?" She asked, studying him from her space on the bed.

He approached her slowly, saying nothing. Her heart started pounding in her chest. He reached the side of the bed and began to remove his clothes, stripping down to his shorts.

She tried not to look, but found her eyes raking over him all the same, an uncomfortable desire spreading through her.

He seemed to know that, a smug smile finding its way onto his lips – but still, he said nothing. He pulled the bed covers back and slid into the bed beside her, propping himself on one elbow to stare at her.

"Darling," he finally spoke, trailing a single finger over her collarbone, "I've let you have your little tantrum, have I not?"

"Yes," she said uncertainly.

"It's over now. This is my house, my bed, and you are my wife. I'll sleep where I damn well please." He paused and brought his eyes up to meet hers. "Have I made myself clear?"

She wanted to argue with him, but the heat in his eyes told her that it would be a bad idea. "Yes," she said. "Yes, you have."

He smiled widely, displaying the dimples in his cheeks. "That's a girl. Come here, give us a kiss."

Still disbelieving that she was actually doing it, she bent forward and pressed her lips to his. She expected him to demand more of her, but it would seem that he was smarter than that. He merely pushed her hair out of her face, said a rumbling "Good night, love," and turned out the light.

As she lay there, wondering why she was so quick to obey after all this time, his hand snaked around her midsection and pulled her close to him. She briefly lost her train of thought as the heat from his body rolled into hers, the strong muscled arm driving her to distraction as it lightly rubbed against the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She had the startling realization that sleep was going to be very difficult this evening.


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's note: I hadn't intended to write this chapter at all, but a loyal follower on Twitter (CheekyClaudine here on FF) asked for a bonus chapter. Thank her by reading and reviewing her fantastic story._

* * *

Dean awoke the next morning in his own bed, sunlight streaming in through the windows and birds chirping pleasantly outside. Some delicious smell was wafting up from the kitchen, and he had a brief moment to reflect that this was what being married should be like.

Not bothering with getting dressed, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, where a haggard-looking Molly awaited.

"How did you sleep?" He asked cautiously, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"I didn't," she replied curtly, turning away from him to take something out of the oven.

"Why not?" He immediately reached for a biscuit from the pan, ignoring the burning on his fingers as he pulled it apart and devoured it.

She looked at him with a mixture of amusement and disgust. "Do you have any concept of manners?" He smiled at her with a mouthful of biscuit, shaking his head merrily. "And I just couldn't sleep. Nothing more to it."

He grinned and stared down at the remains of the biscuit in his hand, looking entirely too cheerful.

"What?" She snapped.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. "I just wish you'd know that it's not a crime to want your husband in a carnal way."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course that's the conclusion your mind would reach."

"Tell me I'm wrong, then," he said, taking a step towards her. "Tell me your panties weren't uncomfortably wet after you were tossing and turning all night."

"Don't talk like that," she chided.

He grinned. "Oh, I'm onto something there, aren't I?" He closed the distance between them quickly and flipped her nightgown up. "Different ones than what you were wearing to bed last night," he teased in a sing-song voice, watching her face turn scarlet as she refused to meet his eyes.

That changed abruptly when he reached one hand out and lightly cupped her through her panties, her eyes swinging to his in horror as he smiled fiendishly at her. She tried to ignore the jolt that shot through her and swatted him away impatiently, but he wrapped his free arm tightly around her waist.

"Just let me help," he murmured, his fingers working their way into her panties. "Just let me…."

She couldn't help it; a moan escaped her lips the moment his fingers began to stroke her swollen, aching flesh. She had spent all night tortured, uncomfortable, and the relief that flowed through her at that moment was pure bliss.

She spread her thighs wider for him, even as her conscious mind screamed at her to stop. His mouth found her neck, the stubble scraping roughly against her skin, and her conscious mind was lost entirely. It was only him; his fingers and arm and mouth, his chest pressed tightly against hers, his hips rocking in time to her – that was all she could see, all she could feel, all that she was in those brief moments before her head fell back and she cried out in absolute pleasure, her legs trembling as they tried to support her weight.

As she slowly came back to awareness, she could feel her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her hands clenched in his hair. Guiltily, she pulled away from him quickly.

He didn't look as amused as before. "One finger," he said gently, bending down to kiss her. "Think about what I could do if you allowed me to use all of my body parts."

The thought was, indeed, heart-stopping. He'd only been inside of her by force. Did he mean that it could be just as pleasurable as this, if not more so?

The seriousness left his face and he kissed her again. "I'll go get you a new pair of panties," he said softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

_Author's note: Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and Tweets, guys. I'm afraid, however, I have some bad news - today's chapters might be the last for a little bit. My beautiful niece and nephew are making their arrival this evening, and I intend to be the cool aunt I am and take them to play laser tag and other such shenanigans over the next week. I'll try to have at least two more up today, but no promises._

* * *

Molly hurried out of the house after she'd changed and eaten breakfast. She couldn't stand Dean's wolfish grin for another moment, and made the stumbling excuse of needing to restock the clinic after the previous evening.

She contemplated the last few weeks idly while she walked, and the change in events over the past twenty-four hours with a bit more gravity.

She had guessed that she wouldn't be able to keep him at a distance for long. Truthfully, she'd expected him to snap before now – and in a much more violent and unpredictable way. He had been quite even-keeled about the whole situation, and that was rather amazing to her.

She shook her head. Contemplating how _he _felt about the situation would do her no good; he would act however he felt was best. What was currently of the most concern was how she felt about the situation, and how she would act.

After several moments of thought, she came to the conclusion that she was still angry – but not nearly as angry as she had been. There was a numb hollow in her chest where Wade had once sat, but her opinion of him had been further dragged into the muck with recent events and she had been forced to cast him away, if not out of her heart completely. It hurt, being so alone all the time.

That thought rose unbidden and caught her off guard. She'd suspected loneliness, had even acknowledged it – but the depth of it surprised her greatly.

"Dean," she muttered, attempting to focus her thoughts and becoming greatly annoyed when an image of his dimpled smile filled her head.

She circled back to the thought that had initiated this whole survey of her emotions. He had certainly stunned her with his behavior – contrite, doting, obedient almost to the point of subservience – over the past two weeks. She had wondered how long it would last, and was astounded when it lasted as long as it did.

Had Wade been right? Should she give him a chance?

"No," she said to herself aloud, horrified. He had forced himself on her, he had made her into a prostitute. He had left her alone, in the dark, with a man who…who…and he had known how bad that would be for her; she had spilled her heart out to him only a few days prior.

It was unforgiveable.

She supposed that was the long and short of the matter. What he had done was entirely unconscionable, and she was under no obligation to forgive him.

Even if that decision was going to make the rest of their lives misery.

She gnawed on her lower lip unhappily. There was no easy answer for this.

She elected to put it out of her thoughts and focus on the task at hand. Doc was already there, working on clean up and looking agitated. The tournament had brought an influx of early arrivals with it, and they had all wanted a chance to scout and fight their potential opponents prior to doing so for a significant amount of money. As a result, she and Doc had been quite busy as of late – and it was obvious to anyone involved that Doc would rather return to their quiet, normal lives.

'You and me both,' she thought with a small smile as she began restocking.

Their morning went quickly and without incident until they were just completing their last few chores. A banging on the door alerted them to the fact that this morning was about to go in a direction that neither of them anticipated or wanted.

Sharing a brief look of annoyance with Doc, Molly went to answer the door and stopped short as she glimpsed the impatient face of Antonio Cesaro through the window.


	22. Chapter 22

It took her several heart-stopping moments to register that he was cradling a bloody right hand and bore the obvious marks of a hellacious brawl. Even as she watched, horrified, a small smile fell over his face and he knocked again, this time slowly, using only one knuckle on the window pane.

She could hear Doc moving behind her, asking her what the trouble was.

"N-nothing," she stammered, rushing forward to open the door.

"Thank you, Miss Molly," he greeted her in his accented voice as he brushed past her, uncomfortably close.

Doc studied him quickly. "I don't recall you fighting last night."

"Not formally," he admitted. "I was hoping that you could bandage my hand. I had an…altercation in a bar last night."

Doc did not look at all amused, but set out to get supplies, grumbling unhappily that he wasn't paid enough to deal with these idiots.

Molly would have been terribly amused, if she wasn't currently being visually dissected by Cesaro.

"I never had an opportunity to congratulate you," he said after several moments. "How is life as Mrs. Molly Ambrose?"

She remained silent for several moments, her face set in hard lines. He eventually raised his eyebrow and gestured with his good hand. "You may speak."

That only reminded her of that terrible night, the authorization to finally scream and cry after what had felt like ages of silence.

"I don't require your permission," she snapped.

He laughed, although his brown eyes showed no amusement. "I see that Mr. Ambrose still has not seen fit to teach you how to behave properly after your little jaunt." He grinned widely at her. "Perhaps I should do him a favor and teach that particular lesson about respect."

Doc returned at that moment and they both fell silent, although Cesaro watched her intently, making no effort whatsoever to hide it.

Finally, when he was done, Doc sent him on his way and immediately vanished to the back to clean up. Cesaro turned around at the door and came back to Molly, clutching her throat tightly in one hand and bringing her out into the main hallway.

"Do you know," he said slowly, loosening his grip slightly so that she could breathe, "what my absolute favorite thing to do is? Hmm?"

She shook her head, not even wanting to dare to imagine this man's favorite thing to do.

He brought his face level with hers. "I like to bite and scratch and tear away little pieces of the women I am with. I like to feel the flesh raking beneath my fingernails; taste the blood in my mouth. But the absolute best part is when they are done, when the crying has stopped. That is when I just make a small cut, right here," he reached out and lightly touched her abdomen, a few inches below her navel. "That is where I mark them; brand them as one of my own. Usually they are too weak to fight back; they simply stare at me with wide, haunted eyes."

"You didn't do that to me," was all that Molly could think to say in response.

A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. "You were not one of mine. I thought it disrespectful. Although I am now starting to wonder if perhaps I sorely misjudged your Mr. Ambrose. Perhaps he is not the man I thought. Perhaps," he continued, his hand returning to that same spot, "I _should_ teach you your lesson about respect. What are your thoughts?"

"I think you need to get the hell away from me," she said in a low voice.

He laughed, amused. "You have a foul mouth. I will teach you manners, even if your husband is too weak and foolish to do so himself."

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head painfully to the side.

"I will take my time with you today," he said in a low voice in her ear, "and I will not be nearly as kind as I was the first time."

"Get off of her," a voice growled from the door.

Opening her eyes, Molly saw a red-haired angel swiftly approaching the two of them.


	23. Chapter 23

Cesaro stepped back, his hands up in the air and an expression of seething anger on his face.

"Merely chatting," he lied.

"Save it," Sheamus snapped, grabbing him by the arm and physically hauling him away from Molly. "I heard most of that conversation. Get out." He shoved him towards the door.

Cesaro turned back towards Molly. "This is not the end, pretty girl. You will not be so pretty when I am done with you."

"Out!" Sheamus bellowed, pointing towards the door.

Cesaro finally backed out slowly, his eyes narrowed. Once the door had shut behind him, Molly let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Are you hurt?" Sheamus asked frantically, taking her face in one large hand and turning it towards him.

She shook her head. "I'm all right. Thank you. It's very fortunate that you keep showing up to rescue me."

"Pure dumb luck," he said dismissively. "Would you like to tell me what that was about?"

"No," she surprised both of them by saying. "No, I don't think I would. He's a dumb, violent man who thinks he can take what he wants. That's all that needs to be said."

"You seem to encounter an abundance of those," he replied, trying to keep his tone light.

"I certainly do." She paused and put her arm out. "Walk me home?" She asked nervously. "Just in case he's lurking in the bushes?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Let me say goodbye to Doc," she added, suddenly remembering that she hadn't been alone during that strange encounter. Why she hadn't just shouted…. She shook her head, irritated by herself. In spite of several brutal lessons on the subject, it would seem that she had yet to learn that handling these men on her own was a terrible idea.

In several moments, Molly and Sheamus walked out of the building arm-in-arm. Molly was still on alert, but after a few minutes that feeling eased away. She enjoyed walking with the Irishman in silence, a peace she hadn't known for a long time stealing over her.

"How is life as Mrs. Ambrose?" He asked, and she could hear the slight bitterness in his voice.

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. "Not at all what I wanted."

"Is he treating you well?"

"Surprisingly, yes. He's been very kind, very patient – which is very strange for him." She glanced over at her companion. "How are you taking it?"

"Me?" He asked, glancing down at her. She nodded. "It's not my life to live. I have no say, as I've been reminded several times."

She swallowed hard. "Wade."

"Yes, Wade," he confirmed. "I have no shame in admitting that I nearly went to your home that night and beat your new husband to a pulp. As it were, I gave my best mate a black eye for leaving you there."

She shrugged. "He was doing what he thought was best."

"Well, he was wrong. It's not what's best." He paused, shaking his head. "This will end in disaster. Can't you feel that?"

"I can," she admitted, squeezing his arm tightly. "I suppose it would be fitting, given the way the rest of my life has gone."

He stopped and turned towards her. "Molly, the rest of your life has no bearing on this," he said slowly. "You don't have to head towards inevitable catastrophe just because it might fit whatever else has happened in your life. Things can change."

She swallowed hard and looked away, her eyes stinging with tears. She simply nodded and lightly tugged at his arm to continue moving forward. She wished fervently, as she had so often that she'd lost count, that loving this man would have been possible.

"We could run away together," he said, attempting to keep his tone light. "I can still take you to Ireland. I think you'd love it there."

They rounded the corner then and saw Dean bounding down the front steps. He spotted them and cautiously raised a hand in greeting.

"I bet I would have," she said sadly, slipping her hand away from his grip. "Thank you for being my savior today."

He nodded. "I'll be there any time you need me, Molly. Any time."

Dean had started to approach, and so he slowly backed away. Molly watched as he walked down the street away from them and disappeared down another road out of sight.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked, the displeasure written on his face.

She shook her head. "Nothing. One of the men came into the clinic today and bothered me. Sheamus happened to show up and chased him off. I was frightened enough to ask for an escort home. He obliged."

"Who was it?" He asked immediately, his voice coming out in a low snarl. "What did they do?"

She debated whether or not to tell him. "I don't know his name," she finally answered, "but I know that you do. You brought him here that night, the night I…left." The understanding dawned on his face, and before they could begin that conversation she rushed on. "He wanted to teach me a lesson in respect. He wanted to brand me, make me his own because he said you were too weak to do it."

"Too weak?" He answered, his voice deceptively calm. "Interesting. Did you happen to see where he went, sweetheart?"


	24. Chapter 24

He smiled through a mask of blood, and Molly had a brief moment of horror. 'This is the man who shares my bed at night,' she realized with a growing sense of queasiness.

"Are you frightened?" He asked, sensing her hesitance.

"A little," she admitted before she properly thought about the implications of being honest with him once again.

He reached out and lightly took her hands in his bruised, bloody ones. "He'll never come near you again. I made sure of that."

She was afraid to ask what, exactly, he had done. Instead, she simply nodded and gently removed her hands from his, returning them to his face to continue tending to his wounds.

He had stumbled in through the front door just as she was getting ready to give up and go to bed. It had obviously been a vicious battle. She still wasn't sure what could have made some of the marks, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know.

"You're lost in thought," he mused, staring at her. "Tell me about it."

She hesitated. "It must have been a very ferocious squabble the two of you had," she finally settled on saying.

"It was," Dean admitted. "He came out the worst of it. He was forced to admit that I wasn't weak."

She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. "I am so glad you got what you wanted out of it."

"I did," he replied, attempting to tamp down the anger rising in his chest. "You'll be safe."

"Interesting that a man who was once so hell-bent on hurting me is now concerned with my safety," she spat.

"This again?" He asked, wincing as he raised an eyebrow. "How many times do I have to apologize? What else can I do to show you that I've changed? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you for your forgiveness?"

He stood up slowly, brushing her hands away. "I'm not going to do that, Molly. I've apologized. I've made my amends. It's time for you to decide whether you accept it or not."

"What does it matter?" She snapped, throwing down the towel she'd been using and taking several steps away from him. "Nothing will change whether I forgive you or not."

"Everything will," he replied simply. "If you do, we can be happy. I can't promise we'll be perfect, but we will be happy. If you don't…" he swallowed hard. He intended to say that he would let her go, but found that he couldn't bring himself to do so. "If you don't we continue to live in misery."

He took a step towards her. "Don't," he said in a low voice, reaching out to touch her face, "let me live in misery for the rest of my life."

She closed her eyes, desperately wanting to fight against him. The truth, however, was that what he said sounded appealing. Why struggle? Why continue to live with such anger and hatred roiling in your stomach?

"I just don't want to hurt anymore," she said flatly. "Can you at least promise me that?"

"Yes," he said, inches from her lips.

She opened her eyes. "Then I forgive you," she said simply.


	25. Chapter 25

Molly finished cleaning Dean's wounds in silence. She found that she was strangely exhausted. She had been holding on to her rage, holding on to her loathing, for so long that releasing it was a tiring process rather than a relieving one.

Without another word to him, she made her way up to their bedroom. As she was getting changed and preparing to fall into bed for a long night of sleep, he joined her. She pointedly ignored him for several minutes, expecting that he wanted to speak with her further while the truth was that she simply did not have the energy for such a thing.

"Molly," he said cautiously, and she glanced over at him warily, in the process of pulling her nightgown over her head. The look in his eyes stopped her dead for a moment – pure unabashed longing filled his face.

Quickly, she covered herself and slipped into the bed without another word.

After a fashion, she felt the bed sink beside her and his arm lightly wrapped around her midsection. Her heart was pounding rapidly, and the room filled with a sense of anticipation – something was going to happen, something was going to break at any moment.

"You haven't really forgiven me, have you?" Dean asked in a low voice.

She considered the question. "I want to forgive you," she answered, "but I'm not sure I can yet. I am trying."

His lips fell lightly on the back of her neck, raising goosebumps on the surrounding flesh. "I'm sorry," he murmured close to her ear. "I don't say those words…ever. You are the only person in the world whose forgiveness I need."

"And why is that?"

"I think it's because I love you," he replied, immediately burying his face in her neck to kiss her again and again, his mouth lightly sucking on her sensitive skin.

"I thought you weren't capable," she answered after a moment, trying desperately to keep her faculties about her in spite of the growing ache between her thighs.

"So did I. Until you."

He turned her head roughly and kissed her, his tongue intruding into her mouth. She kissed him back just as fervently without conscious thought. Her head was a heady mixture of anger, lust, and just a little bit of power. Those words, those declarations gave her power over him, whether they were true or not.

Empowered without realizing precisely why, she turned to him and pressed her body against his. Running her hand down his chest, she unbuttoned his pants and slid her hand inside to touch him. He gave a small whimper of pleasure, a sound so foreign from his lips that she had to suppress a smile.

His hands began fumbling at the top of her nightgown, trying desperately to bare her breasts. After several agonizing moments, he simply ripped it apart. "I'll buy you a new one," he promised hastily, bending to take her nipple into his mouth.

She moaned softly, and he started to throb in her hand. It had been so long since a hand other than his own had given him pleasure, and surrounded by Molly's scent and tasting her skin pushed him over the edge nearly immediately.

He spilled himself onto her nightgown, an orgasm that was pleasurable and copious but not intense. A small smile fell on his lips as he thought that he must then strive for the intensity he was after, and he knew how to occupy himself in the meantime.

Forcing himself to sit up, lest he lie back and fall asleep, he gently pushed Molly onto her back and was soon between her thighs, nibbling lightly on her inner thighs before plunging his tongue inside of her and lightly sliding it up to her throbbing clit.

She gasped as he began sucking, his tongue occasionally flicking against her most sensitive spot. Within a few moments, her hands had woven into his hair and her hips were pumping rapidly against his face. He could feel her legs begin to shake and he moved to simply lick her, making his tongue wide and flat to cover as much ground as possible.

"Oh please," she breathed, rocking her hips against his face.

He pulled a few inches away. "Please what, darling?" He asked, sure to exhale lightly on her exposed flesh.

"Please…let me…make me…." He grinned as he realized that his wife was still embarrassed about asking for an orgasm.

"What if I don't want to?" He asked, gently probing with his fingers now and enjoying the jerk of her hips.

"What can I do to convince you?"

He glanced up at her, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling deeply with every inhalation. If he hadn't been completely ready before that sight, he certainly was now.

Scrambling to his knees, he lightly played the head of his cock against her clit. She arched her back and pushed towards him, and he nearly plunged inside of her before remembering his promise.

"Do you want me to?" He asked, his breath coming out in pants with the force of holding back.

"Yes," she answered immediately. "Yes, oh, please, yes."

He buried himself completely inside of her, both of them gasping in pleasure as it was done. Molly moved her untutored hips back and forth against him until he reached out to stop her. "One minute, love," he murmured, his eyes clenched shut. "You are…you feel…" he cut himself off with a small moan as he shifted inside of her.

"No," she surprised him by saying, moving her hips again. "Now."

He forced his eyes open and, after several worrisome moments for her, grinned. "All right then."

Holding her hips, he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. "Move away. Show me what you can do."

She was shy at first, moving slowly. He slid his hand down to where they joined and began lightly stroking her, and that changed. She rocked on him with reckless abandon, chasing after an orgasm that he knew was going to wake the neighbors.

"Tell me when," he gasped, trying desperately to keep pace with her. "Tell me when."

"Now," she moaned, "oh God, now."

He moved quickly again, flipping her onto her stomach and crawling behind her. Pulling her up onto her knees, he buried himself completely in her once more and resumed his previous attention with his fingers.

When she screamed, she buried her face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

He lasted only a few thrusts more, the tremors from her orgasm bringing him to completion with the intensity he had been craving for weeks.

They remained silent for a few moments, Dean's rapidly softening erection still inside of her, still occasionally being gripped entirely pleasantly as the vestiges of her orgasm passed. He lightly kissed her shoulder and reluctantly pulled away.

"Let me get a towel," he said quietly, stifling a yawn. He stumbled to the bathroom, a small grin on his face, and when he returned he gently cleaned the mess he'd made in her, her eyes following him curiously.

"What is it?" He asked when he was done, falling onto the bed beside her.

She hesitated, and he found himself slightly more alert. "Why didn't you just do that the first time? I would have followed you anywhere."

She was teasing him. Molly. She was joking about their past. He laughed heartily and pulled her into his arms, kissing her over and over again.

As they fell asleep, he had the pleasant, passing, and entirely false thought that perhaps everything was going to be all right.


	26. Chapter 26

The sun rose in a hot flare of pink and orange the following morning. As Dean was moving slowly inside of Molly for the third time over the past twelve hours in the Ambrose household, holding her closely in an attempt to make love to her, Wade Barrett was impatiently shoving his wife's head down as he thrust up to hit the back of her throat.

He closed his eyes and gripped her tightly by the hair, winding the strands several times around his hand, as he tried to push away unrelated thoughts that began intruding.

His life had changed since he'd left Molly.

The ache in his chest had been maddening for several days, and Abigail had smartly steered clear of him. On the third day of silence, she had come to him shyly and invited him to her bed. He'd been here every night since, physically exhausting himself with her so that he could sleep.

All the while, his thoughts centered around Molly. He studied her intently for the first few moments he saw her on any given occasion, searching desperately for a sign that she had been struck or handled roughly. He found nothing.

The only consolation he had was that she seemed to look past Ambrose in the same way she looked past him. He had an idea that their household was as cold and desolate as his had been when Molly first arrived.

He tightened his grip on Abigail as he wished, for the thousandth time, that he hadn't been so stubbornly stupid in the first place. He could be here with her, right now, not forcing his eyes shut and imagining that the talented tongue swirling around him was Molly's instead of his wife's.

Deeply angry with himself, he thrust up roughly and relished the gagging sound his wife made. He held her head in place, refusing to allow her to come up to recover. The spiteful streak in him seemed to have increased tenfold as of late, and he couldn't think of a more fitting recipient than the most spiteful woman he'd ever known.

He forced his eyes open as he felt the first pulses of his orgasm, watching through half-lidded eyes as small rivulets of white ran from her lips and down to his base, only to be consumed once more as she lowered her mouth.

Satisfied, he dropped his head back onto the pillow and allowed her to continue at a slower pace for several moments before pushing her away. She lay down beside him and cautiously brought his hand to her breast.

"Please?" She asked, and he had to suppress a laugh at the pathetic tone she took.

"Take care of it yourself," he snapped impatiently, standing up and beginning the search for his pants.

"You are being intolerably cruel," she replied, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see that she wasn't teasing. Her face was set in hard lines, and he thought her eyes glistened with tears about to be shed.

"I'm merely making up for all the times you were intolerably cruel to me." He bent over and placed a hard kiss on her lips. "You made this bed, Abigail, just as much as I did. We both deserve this life. Don't you ever doubt that harsh little truth."

Disgusted with both himself and his wife, he made a hasty retreat.


	27. Chapter 27

Yawning widely, the bearded man made his way up to the room in the inn that had been earmarked for him, carrying two bags and maintaining a sharp look out in spite of his exhaustion. He had traveled a long way over a short period of time.

He was small, scrawny even by some standards – but he knew that if any man were to look at him sideways, he could inflict a whole new world of pain on him.

Thankfully, that was not on the agenda for this particular evening and he made it to his room without incident. Collapsing on the bed, he found that his mind – which had been chugging along slowly since early this morning – was suddenly buzzing and filled to the brim with varying thoughts.

The prevailing thought was that he couldn't believe how close he was to the man who had taken everything from him after all of these years of searching. It had all been such happenstance; encountering a Mexican champion in a bar in California who was discussing his recent trip to London. More to the point, he was discussing a particular man, an unforgettable man, with shaggy blonde hair and an exceedingly sour disposition.

He'd been unsure how to proceed for a time, working through his scheduled dates and waiting for a chance to get to London. But a man had to eat, and in order to do that he needed the money from the fights. He scratched and clawed, saving every spare cent until he ran across an invitation in a dusty warehouse. One of the higher-caliber fighters must have dropped it, he reasoned, but it had certainly felt like divine intervention at that moment.

With a solid business reason to get to London, he'd been able to get his trip funded by a generous sponsor. He intended to repay that sponsor by kicking people in the skull and taking all the money he possibly could, plus handling the personal business he had with one Mr. Dean Ambrose and returning to the States in less than a months' time with more focus and drive, and hopefully having left a few of his personal demons behind.

The other thought, the one that murmured just below the surface and that he refused to acknowledge completely, was that she had been beautiful…and that he missed her terribly, every moment of every day.

Shaking his head in agitation, refusing to allow those sad thoughts to fester and grow into the heartache he knew they would, Daniel Bryan rolled over and extinguished the sole source of light in his room.

The next several weeks were going to be very busy – and hopefully very satisfying – ones. He needed his rest.


	28. Chapter 28

Blissfully unaware that the number of people in London who would have liked his head on a pike had risen from two to three in the previous evening – with more yet to come – Dean Ambrose lounged on his bed with a cigarette in hand and a smile on his lips.

Molly had dropped into sleep several hours ago, and he knew that he should follow suit. But he found himself awake, his mind a satisfying haze of memories of the last twenty-four hours. He'd had his doubts that he would be able to turn things around, and he found himself pleasantly surprised once more by his tenacity and determination.

Clenching the cigarette between his teeth, he took several happy puffs before stubbing it out in the ash tray beside the bed. Turning back towards his wife, he stared down at her for several moments. She was still undressed, the sheet covering her to just under her breasts. He smiled at her pert pink nipples, which were still swollen from the attention he'd given them many, many times over the evening.

Just looking at her made him mentally hungry again, but he knew that his body was exhausted. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman long enough to bring it to that state – they usually only lasted a night.

The brief, unpleasant thought pushed into his head that he wasn't sure how long this could possibly last. How long would he be able to keep his temper? How long until he grew tired of her?

He always seemed to fall into women with such enthusiasm, only to have it winked out of existence entirely too quickly. It was how he had left a trail of broken hearts and battered spirits in his wake, and surely this woman would be no exception to the rule.

His eye caught the flash of gold on his left hand, and he suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe, as if an iron fist was squeezing his lungs. He had really gone and done it this time, hadn't he? There was no easy way out of _this_ particular mess, was there?

Angrily, he slapped himself on the side of the head with the palm of his hand, desperately trying to calm the buzzing of those negative, neurotic voices.

There was always an easy way. It might not be morally or socially acceptable, but there was a way to make a retreat if things should take a turn. He tried to reason with himself that Molly was different, and that it wouldn't be necessary. He had fought so hard for her, he had reached into depths that even he questioned on occasion – and he couldn't be precisely sure why he'd done so. That must mean something. That must mean that they were fated, destined to be a part of one another until the end of their days.

Still, it was only the thought of having a contingency plan that silenced the voices in his head.

Uneasily, he slid down into the bed beside his wife, staring at her intently, waiting to see some sign that she had heard these thoughts and was preparing to bolt the minute his eyes shut. He actually closed his eyes briefly to see if she would, and flung them open again immediately as she shifted closer to him and sighed in her sleep.

He tried it several more times, just to be sure that she would not leave, before he slipped into an uneasy sleep that was plagued by dark dreams and the constant whispering buzz of angry voices.


	29. Chapter 29

Sheamus scowled in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose, trying desperately to keep his nasty thoughts in check lest he go and deck Molly's male counterpart in the face with all his might.

It had been unbearable to know that this poor, long-suffering woman had been forced to live with a man she loathed, even though she had claimed it was her choice. Unbearable had been elevated to enraging the moment he heard that Ambrose had physically harmed her in some way, necessitating an escape. Enraging had been further elevated to a deep, black pit of indescribable fury when that bastard had gone and married her, only to be topped by the realization that he had also allowed that Swiss motherfucker to harm her in some way.

Still, he doubted that all of that was as bad as watching her smile at him. He couldn't be angry with her; there was simply no room for that in his heart. But there was still room for pain, and he felt an abundance of it at this moment.

He looked down abruptly, tearing his eyes away from the first genuine smile he'd seen on her face in weeks.

It was impossible for him to say what had changed between the two of them, but it was abundantly clear that something had. It was something that pulled them closer together rather than pushing them apart. This was the precise development he had fervently wished against.

Wishes were useless. She wouldn't ever care for him the way he did for her, and having that truth in front of his face finally necessitated the painful process of moving forward with his life without her.

He glanced over at Wade, who seemed to be taking their new-found affection about as well as he was, his fists and jaw both clenched tightly as he took no pains to hide his disgust.

He felt a momentary surge of anger towards his friend. This mess was entirely his doing. If Wade had just had a backbone, Molly would be with him – and while that meant that she wouldn't be with him, it meant that she would at least be safe.

"Excuse me," a voice demanded by his elbow, jarring him out of his thoughts. "I heard you were in charge?"

He turned and looked down, surprised to see a tiny man with a sizeable golden-brown beard staring up at him expectantly.

"That's right. What can I do for ya?"

"I want to fight."

Sheamus felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. This little tyke? But the look in the small man's eyes told him that laughing would be a grave error on his part. He swallowed it down and studied him for a brief moment before nodding.

"We can get you set up," he agreed, and he thought he saw relief cross the other man's expression. "Follow me."

Swinging his eyes across the room as he led this unknown man towards the back, he watched the blood drain out of Dean Ambrose's face and nearly stopped short before deciding that he didn't want to know and continuing forward.

"What did you say your name was?" He asked instead.

"I didn't," he replied smartly, and Sheamus wanted to roll his eyes. Another little man pretending to be tough. "My name is Daniel Bryan, and I'm going to kick some skulls in."

Sheamus turned back briefly to give the man a warning look, only to see Bryan shooting daggers in Ambrose's direction. He held his breath for a moment, wondering if Ambrose would attack and he'd spend the night mopping up blood. Bryan stood his ground, however, and strangely it was Ambrose who backed away first.

He decided that this little man wasn't so bad.


	30. Chapter 30

Dean's hand abruptly fell out of hers, and Molly turned to see what the trouble was. She followed his eyes across the room to where a bearded man was talking with Sheamus. Glancing back at Dean, she could see his face turn white.

"Dean?" She asked gently, lightly touching his shoulder. "What is it?"

To her surprise, he didn't answer immediately and pulled away. "Don't touch me," he said in a low voice, although he didn't sound angry.

"…kick some skulls in," Molly heard, and turned to see that the bearded man had drawn closer and was staring at Dean intently. Everyone stood still for a moment before Dean lowered his head and stepped back, breaking the odd silent spell.

She waited until the other men were out of earshot before she spoke. "Who was that man?"

"His name is Daniel Bryan," he answered automatically. "He's an American."

"Do you know him?"

His head shot around to Molly, and the look he gave her was pure death. "Does it matter?" He snapped. "Does it have any bearing on you and I?"

"N-no, I was just asking."

"Don't question me. Ever."

He walked away from her wide-eyed stare, afraid that if he stayed a moment longer he'd break his promise and hurt her. Badly.

He found himself outside in a few moments, walking rapidly away from the once-abandoned storefront, his shaking hands searching his shirt pocket desperately for a cigarette.

Daniel fucking Bryan. He'd never expected to see him again.

Another woman. Another mistake. Another tragic accident that everyone seemed to attribute to him.

"Brianna," he muttered, the name bringing the mental image of a beautiful dark-haired woman with bright red lips and dancing brown eyes. This was immediately followed by the memory of her face, now pale and devoid of life, while her brown hair floated around her like a halo in the water.

She had found peace in death, a peace that she would never have had in life.

He shook his head, agitated. They blamed him for her drowning. That diminutive maniac, her fiancé, couldn't accept that his beloved had chosen him for an evening. He claimed that she never would have behaved that way, that her love for him was solid and could not be shaken.

However, he'd never met a man as persuasive as Dean Ambrose.

That sequence of events had led him to make a hasty retreat from the state of Washington, pushing him further towards the center of the nation and his inevitable flight to England.

He finally found a cigarette and chased the tip with a match for several seconds before steadying himself enough to get it lit.

He'd been so worried about Phil Brooks that he hadn't even considered the arrival of another ghost from his past, and that troubled him. He could usually see everything so far ahead, and how this had managed to escape his thought process bothered him a great deal.

He was genuinely afraid, for the first time in a long time. His past was catching up to him with increasing speed, and he was certain that it would overcome him soon enough.

How many more ghosts would he see before the end came?


	31. Chapter 31

Molly tried to duck, but it was too late – Dean caught her by the throat and shoved her into the wall. Even drunk, he was still so quick. She would wonder about that later when she could breathe relatively normally once more.

"Why are you running, pretty little girl?" He slurred, his face inches from hers. "Am I scaring you?"

He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he bent his head and put his mouth right next to her ear. "You should be scared," he murmured, his free hand beginning to paw at her breasts while he engulfed her ear with his mouth.

She closed her eyes and felt twin tracks of tears begin to flow from both of her eyes. Dean must have noticed as well; he started chuckling softly to himself. "Finally, a spark of intelligence from you. I wasn't sure you had any sense at all."

He tightened his hand around her throat, relishing the small choking sound that managed to escape her lips. "Let me tell you a secret, my Molly May," he continued, pulling back from her to look her in the eye. "I could snap your neck and not feel a single regret. Do you believe me?"

She managed to nod around the tight grip he had her in.

"Then you're not as dumb as you appear; thank whatever god there might be."

Mercifully, he pulled his hand away from her neck and she immediately doubled over, choking and coughing as she attempted to pull precious air back into her lungs.

He allowed her to regain her breath before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her back to an upright position. She eyed him warily, wondering what new hell was going to befall on her head in these next few moments.

Surprisingly, he fell quiet, weaving in front of her. "I want to tell you everything," he finally said, "but if you're afraid of me now, you'll be terrified to know the truth."

She had no idea how to respond to such a statement, and so she elected to not respond at all.

"You'll run. They all ran. Every last one of them. They ran and they begged and it didn't do a damn thing to change my mind," he spat bitterly. "I can lie to myself. I can tell myself that I had no hand in it. But the dreams…." He stopped and shook his head violently. "How can I dream about shoving someone under water, holding them there, if I don't have the memory of it?" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "How is that possible?"

Her brain attempted to process what he was telling her, but she pushed that truth away abruptly. She could not, would not, think on this matter. Not until she was safe.

"I'm broken, Molly," he wailed suddenly, clutching at her desperately. "I don't know what's wrong or how I can fix it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. He sounded pitiful, this terrifying, violent man. Cautiously, she reached up and lightly touched his face. His head shot up, and she was petrified for the brief seconds it took her to find her words.

"We're both broken. We were broken so that we could fit together. Don't you remember that?"

He paused briefly, and she fervently hoped she'd said the right thing. She gathered that she had when he grabbed her face and pressed his lips to hers.

"You're the only one. The only one in this whole world who understands me." He gripped her hair tightly in his big hands. "I'm sorry about your neck," he sniffled after a moment.

She managed a small smile before standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Come," she said softly, taking his hand. "You need to rest."

"You'll stay? You won't leave me?"

"Of course," she lied, leading him gently up the stairs.


	32. Chapter 32

"So what is it with you and that Ambrose bloke?" Sheamus attempted to ask casually, eyeing the bearded man over the rim of his glass.

"We knew each other a long time ago," Bryan replied, in a tone that stated he should obviously drop that particular subject.

Sheamus elected to ignore that. "He married a friend of mine," he continued. "Lovely lady."

This caught Bryan's attention. "He's _married_?"

"Ay, about two months now."

Bryan shook his head and downed his beer with great agitation. "Unbelievable." Sheamus held his tongue, guessing that the little man would elaborate. "Was it her choice?" He finally spit out. "I find it hard to believe that any woman would willingly marry that psychopath."

Sheamus shook his head. "No," he admitted. "It wasn't her choice."

Bryan eyed him shrewdly. "You care about her."

"A great deal," he admitted.

"He stole her from you."

Sheamus shrugged uncomfortably. "Not quite. In a manner of speaking, yes I suppose, but she was technically never mine to begin with. Her heart was always with someone else."

Bryan studied him for a few moments before leaning back in his chair and wiping his mouth. "It sounds like you have quite a story to tell."

"I'm more interested in yours," Sheamus replied slowly. "I've told you the bulk of mine – Ambrose showed up, married Molly, and left two good men in the dust. You're a mystery to me, friend. You've said nothing of yourself."

There was a far-away look in his eyes, and he stared down at the table. Sheamus thought that he wouldn't speak and was on the verge of saying something when the man started telling his tale, his voice so quiet that Sheamus had to lean halfway over the table to hear him.

"I was engaged to be married. The woman…Brianna…was way out of my league." A small smile lit his face. "Everyone told us so. But her heart knew mine, every nook and corner was familiar to her. We were, if you believe in such a thing, soul mates. In the first instant we saw one another, our hearts knew what it would take our minds several months to realize. We were meant to be together."

His face abruptly went from happiness to despair. "She had the great misfortune to meet Mr. Ambrose out one evening. She was found dead the next morning, her beautiful body floating face down in the dirty brown water of the Wishkah River.

"He claimed no part in the whole thing, even though people saw him following her as she left. He'd been trying to speak to her all evening, and she rebuffed him multiple times. She disappeared down that street, him in tow, and ended up dead."

Sheamus felt his blood run cold in his veins, but that reaction was nothing compared to how he felt when Bryan continued.

"It's not the first time a woman met that fate around Mr. Ambrose. Nor was it the last. All of them, six in total, drowned in a body of water. I tracked him around the States, but the last I knew of him was in Chicago. He killed the sister of a well-known champion in those parts and vanished. I heard nothing further of him until I ran across a Mexican champion in a bar in California. He was discussing his recent trip to London."

"Alberto del Rio," Sheamus said flatly.

"Alberto del Rio," Bryan confirmed.

Sheamus ran his hands through his hair. "I need to get Molly out of there," he said, standing quickly.

Bryan's hand shot out and grabbed his forearm. "No."

"Are you out of your mind? I can't leave her there with a murderer!"

"If you get her, he'll know," Bryan warned. "He'll know something is coming. He's bound to be on his toes already because I'm here. Take Molly, and he'll run again and continue to do it somewhere else. He needs to be stopped."

He sank back into his chair. "What are you going to do?"

Bryan stared him dead in the eye. "I'm going to kill him."


	33. Chapter 33

Molly waited until Dean was asleep to begin her grand escape. This was not as easy as it sounded; he was in hysterics, alternately begging her not to leave and threatening her life if she stayed. Finally, after several false starts, she was certain that he was out and wouldn't notice she'd gone until morning.

She walked out the front door quickly. That's when she froze. She had no idea where to go.

She already knew that Mr. Barrett's house was out-of-bounds. There was no way Abigail would let her in through the front door. She briefly thought of Doc and the storefront, but knew that he would find her there. For similar reasons, her father's house was a terrible choice.

She could see only one place, only one man, who would protect her. And though she despised burdening him with her problems once again, she knew that he would receive her with open arms as if it were no trouble at all.

Sighing heavily, she turned in the direction of Sheamus' home. While she walked, she attempted to process everything she had heard tonight.

In spite of what Dean might think, Molly wasn't stupid. It was easy to surmise that he was more than a passing acquaintance of that bearded fellow. The way his face had gone pale, the way he had refused to answer her questions – she could further guess that, however he knew him, it wasn't in a pleasant manner.

She'd had her theories before he'd come home blind stinking drunk. Perhaps it was someone he'd wronged morally, which she wouldn't have been at all surprised by. Perhaps it was someone to whom he owed a large sum of money. Again, she wouldn't have been shocked by this.

What did finally shock her, what finally frightened her enough to dare to walk out the door this evening, was his odd behavior. It was obvious that he was starting to crumble, to fall apart at the very seams of his soul. She had lived through one man – her father – doing that when she depended on him. She was terrified of the consequences of attempting to live through it again.

It was not, she told herself firmly, that she was afraid of _him_. She was afraid of her life with him. Even as she had this comforting and entirely false thought, his words rose unbidden in her mind – 'You'll run. They all ran. Every last one of them. They ran and they begged and it didn't do a damn thing to change my mind.'

She shoved those words away impatiently, shoved away that nasty thought of who 'they' were and why they had all run and precisely what they had begged for in the end. If she didn't get to safety tonight, she was certain that she would find out that particular truth for herself.

She had finally made it to Sheamus' door, barely aware of where her feet had been carrying her this whole time. She knocked, timidly at first, and then louder.

He wasn't home.

She had to laugh. What a cruel joke. She finally went to get help, and her savior was probably having a pint in the bar.

Turning back around, she saw a familiar shape and nearly cried out before ducking behind a tree instead.

She watched the weaving, muscular form of Antonio Cesaro pass her by and she knew that she could not wait – it would seem that she had no safe haven tonight.

After he had turned the corner, she darted out into the street and quickly returned to her home, attempting to steel herself and find her courage with every agonizing step she took.

She finally came to the one conclusion that would allow her to open that door and return to her sleeping husband – at least the danger in her bed was a danger she knew.


	34. Chapter 34

Dean awoke with a pounding headache and, groaning, rolled over and flung his arm around Molly, burying his face in her hair to escape the blinding light of the sun streaming in through the windows.

"A little hung over, dear?" She asked gently, her voice still full of sleep.

"A lot hung over," he grumbled, nestling his body into hers. "Was I obnoxious?"

"A bit," she admitted, pulling her hair back to show the bruises on her neck. His heart stopped for a moment and he filled with deep sadness.

"I'm sorry, love," he murmured, placing several soft kisses on her bruised skin.

"No more drinking," she said sternly, although he could feel her starting to shake against him. He must have really done a number on her last night.

"No more drinking," he agreed. "I promise." He kept dotting kisses along her neck, getting distracted by the way her body felt against his and the soft, clean scent of her skin. "Let me make it up to you this morning," he growled, capturing her earlobe between his lips and nipping it gently with his teeth.

Molly closed her eyes against the tears that were forming there, trying desperately to keep her body from shaking as he began to handle her more roughly.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, making an obvious effort to be more gentle. "I take it that I was a little too intoxicated last night to make love to you. I find myself desperate this morning, even though I should be moving slowly."

He was babbling. He knew that. But she was entirely unreceptive, and he found himself afraid of what else he might have said or done to her last night.

"I didn't hurt you…?" He could barely bring himself to ask if he'd actually forced himself on her again.

"No," she assured him, lightly placing her hands over his. "I brought you up to bed and you fell asleep. I watched you to make sure that you weren't going to get sick from the amount you'd had to drink. I only fell asleep as the sun was rising."

He allowed his shoulders to slump as this lie passed his wife's lips easily. "You must be exhausted." He bent and pressed his lips into her hair, lightly squeezing her body against his. "I'm not sure what I ever did to deserve a woman as kind as you are."

Molly rolled over to face him, a small half-hearted smile on her lips. She didn't say anything; she merely leaned forward and lightly kissed him. "Would you be terribly upset if I went back to sleep?"

"Of course not," he answered, even though his heart sank in his chest. No sex this morning would mean that he was in for a long, tense day of training right when he needed the most to be relaxed.

He was certainly intelligent enough to not whine to his poor wife about it this morning, however. Not after he'd gotten drunk and marked her up the night before. He would have liked to slap himself in the head, but he realized that would do little to allay either her obvious concerns or his blinding headache.

Instead, he leaned down and lightly kissed the tip of her nose, fervently wishing that he could undo the damage of the last twelve hours and hoping against hope that Wade Barrett didn't find out what he'd done and take her away from him.

"I'll make it up to you," he said as he pulled away, determined that it wouldn't happen. "I am so sorry, my love, and I will find a way to make it right. I swear."

But he could see in her eyes that the battle was already lost. She was gone, and she wouldn't be returning this time. Not unless he was able to perform miracles.

Climbing out of bed after one last kiss, he was determined that if miracles were what was required of him, they would be performed. He wasn't going to lose her. Not now.


	35. Chapter 35

Ambrose was particularly vicious today, Wade noticed. He was sparring with Drew, not taking any care to keep his blows light. The Scot already had a bloodied nose and lip, and Wade was certain he'd have worse before it was over – the look of grim determination on Ambrose's face told him as much.

He wondered idly if he and Molly might have had a spat. He'd noticed that they were rather cozy the previous evening, up until the new arrival had walked in and Ambrose had run out abruptly. He'd watched Molly closely, noting the progression of her emotions – shock, fear, sadness, and ultimately resignation.

It was wrong of him to hope, but he wanted there to be trouble with the two of them. It had been a small comfort knowing that she was angry with Ambrose as well as himself, but when the tides had changed for Ambrose he was devastated.

In spite of his promise to let her go, he still found himself hoping. He wasn't precisely sure why that was, although he knew that he wasn't the only man she had this effect on. He briefly considered what it might be about her before giving up on that line of thought.

He knew what it was for him; whatever the other men thought, he couldn't begin to guess. What he did know for certain was that he knew her more intimately than the other two. They had spent so many nights together, simply conversing as friends. He knew how her mind worked, he knew what would make her laugh…quite simply, he knew her heart. Whatever claim the others thought to make on her was inferior to the one he had.

He began punching the sparring dummy violently. Ambrose wanted a woman he could control, and quiet, meek Molly would be that for him. Sheamus wanted a pretty wife who would be faithful, and Molly could have been that as well. Both of these were shallow compared to what he wanted, which was a true partner in life.

She could have been that for him. She could have, if only he'd allowed her to do so.

He found himself, once again, hating the life he'd made for himself. And the worst part of it, the absolute brutal truth – he had no one to blame but himself. He could have stopped this madness a long time ago, he could be with Molly now and smirking at Ambrose's suffering instead of living the hellacious reversal of that situation.

He decided, in that moment, that he'd had enough. He intended to go see that Molly and Ambrose hadn't had a spat, and if they had – well, Ambrose had promised him those days were over. He would be well within his rights to remind Ambrose of his promise to end things.

And then he would end things with that spiteful whore in his home. Then he could finally have his second chance with Molly.

He shook his head abruptly. He was getting ahead of himself, he was engaging in a spirited round of wishful thinking. He doubted that Molly would have stayed if Dean had hurt her, knowing that she had other places she could run.

Still, the thought nagged at him brutally. He needed to see her. He needed to be sure that she was unharmed.

After trying to fight this urge for a half-hour, he realized that his training was suffering as a result and made a promise that he would check on her quickly, ensure her safety, and return to the training facility post haste.

"I'm a bloody fool," he muttered angrily, shrugging his jacket on and slipping out the door.


	36. Chapter 36

Molly groaned as she finally came into awareness, attempting to snuggle under the covers and shut out the constant banging that had awoken her from downstairs.

She didn't care what it was – the apocalypse, an earthquake, the wrath of God himself – it felt like she had just fallen asleep, and she felt that it could certainly wait until tomorrow.

Whoever was downstairs seemed to disagree, and they continued their relentless banging on her door.

Irritated beyond measure, she flung the covers back and made her way down the stairs. When her feet pounded on the steps, the banging stopped. She was tempted to return to her bed, but thought better of it. She was relatively awake now; she should see what new terror waited outside her front door.

With a bit of caution, she cracked the door just enough to see Wade standing on her front porch, managing to look both concerned and embarrassed.

"What is it?" She managed to croak through her bruised throat.

"I just…I had a strange feeling, and I needed to see if you were all right." He felt stupid saying those words now that it had come time to do so, but it was the truth and she would have known a lie from him.

She studied him intently for a few moments, wondering if she should tell him that she was fine and send him on his way or tell him the truth. Finally, she asked where Dean was and if he was occupied for the time being. When Wade carefully explained that he was training, she stepped aside to let him in.

In her heart, she knew that this was a bad idea. This would only lead to trouble for her. But she was so desperate to escape this hell that she could no longer warn herself away from this course of action. Dean was completely unstable, and he was never going to change his behavior. The time had long passed for her to remove herself from this situation. The only thing stopping her was the fact that she certainly couldn't do it alone.

Wordlessly, she showed Wade her neck. The bruises had darkened in the few short hours she'd slept, and it was truly a horrific sight to behold. She expected him to fly off the handle in anger, but instead he simply looked saddened. The room was silent for a very long time.

"I can't stay," she finally said in a low whisper, afraid that somehow he would hear her say these words. "He'll kill me if I stay."

Wade inhaled deeply before nodding in agreement. "Go upstairs," he instructed. "Pack a bag with your clothes and personal items. Do it quickly."

She froze. "Where will I go?"

"Somewhere he won't find you until I can arrange a different situation for you. You will be safe, I can assure you."

Slowly, fearing that she was still dreaming, she returned to her bedroom and packed quickly. Her hands were shaking with both fear and anticipation, and nothing would steady their trembling. After what felt like an eternity – but was only approximately ten minutes – she returned to Wade. He silently took her bag and offered her his hand, taking her out into the night.

Attempting to be discreet, she glanced back at her house. She was surprised to note that she felt no sadness walking away.

"Where are we going?" She managed to ask after several moments of walking.

"I'm taking you to a hotel on the other side of town," he explained. "I'm going to talk to Mr. del Rio when I can get a private word. I'm sure he'll be happy to bring you to his home in Mexico as his employee."

Molly swallowed hard. "I won't see you again," she realized, the truth biting into her stomach.

He glanced down at her. "No. That is probably for the best."

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she finally admitted. In that moment, her anger towards him dissipated and she was left with the painful realization of her eternally unfulfilled love.

"I know it is," Wade insisted, squeezing her hand. "You need to be away from that maniac. Mexico is as far away as I can imagine. You'll be safe, and that's what matters."

She was quiet for a few moments, contemplating his words. "You could join me," she managed to say quietly. "You could wait a few months and then come to me."

His heart leapt in his chest. He could. Abigail wouldn't search for him. He was sure that del Rio could help him find work. No one there would know that he was married. He could marry Molly. They could have a life, a family. They could be happy.

"I could," he agreed. "I could very well."

She smiled up at him shyly, and he felt the first natural smile in weeks fall on his face. "I believe I just might do that," he added.

Relief flooding through her, she lightly leaned on him as they walked. Their happy future was closer than it had ever been.


	37. Chapter 37

What Dean had intended to do that night was to swoop in to the house and find Molly – he'd imagined she was in the kitchen, cooking some kind of deliciousness for dinner – and promptly take her attention away from her activities with a bouquet of flowers he'd picked up on the way home.

While she was smiling her shy half-smile, he'd lean down and kiss her before picking her up and, cradling her close to his body, bringing her up to their bedroom.

He would undress her completely, and, starting at her lips, would kiss a trail down her body. He would nuzzle his face between her breasts, allowing his mouth to pause to lightly suck on each of her nipples before continuing onward. He would pause at the end of her torso, making her writhe in anticipation. Then he would kiss down one thigh all the way to her foot, eliciting a pained whimper of restrained desire from her lips.

After a brief hesitation, he would kiss his way up her other thigh before plunging his tongue into her soft sweetness, relishing the taste and feel of her against his tongue. He could almost feel the way her hands would weave into his hair, desperately pushing and urging him forward while her hips pressed up to meet his mouth.

He intended to elicit several orgasms from her in that way before finally slowing, lightly licking her swollen clit with decreasing frequency until neither of them could wait another moment. That is when he would have undressed, taking care to turn away so that he could slip his second gift out of his pocket and place it in his closed fist.

This next part would require some skill, but he was certain he could have pulled it off. He would return to the bed, kneeling between her thighs, and lightly play the head of his cock through her swollen, wet lips with his free hand before plunging completely inside of her.

He would not rush, no matter how strong his urge to do so tugged at him. Tonight was supposed to be about her, his sweet Molly, and he would have done everything in his power to make her feel treasured.

He would hold her close, allowing his free hand to move lightly over her face and breasts while he kissed her gently. He would wait for those tell-tale signs that another orgasm was closing in on her – her hips rising against his, the sudden clench of her muscles around him – and he would ride this pleasure out with her, keeping his kisses gentle.

He would slow to an eventual stop while she came down, allowing her exhausted body to rest. Carefully, he would clasp the necklace in his clenched fist around her neck – a bright green emerald that had cost him a small fortune, but that would have looked positively lovely on her.

"This," he would promise, "is the only thing that I will ever place around your neck again."

Her eyes would well with tears, and all would be immediately forgiven. He would continue to make love to her until he had an intense orgasm of his own.

When he had finished, he would have held her close. They would have discussed his plans for them. England, he would say, had become a bit of a chore. He would then suggest they made a fresh start. He had heard lovely things about Spain, and he was certain Molly was smart enough to pick up the language quickly enough for both of them. He would flatter her, attempt to soothe the hurtful words he had said the previous night. Even though he would have been forgiven, he would still realize that he needed to make amends.

She would agree whole-heartedly, and they would set the timeframe to leave after the tournament had concluded. They would move to Spain, with its colorful, exotic culture and flowing language. They would live a happy, uncomplicated life.

That was what he had intended to do. Instead, he returned to a dark, empty house with a fistful of flowers that she would never see and a necklace that she would never wear.


	38. Chapter 38

Antonio Cesaro downed his drink and gestured at the bartender for another round.

He was in an exceptionally foul mood this evening. If he was honest with himself, he had been in an exceptionally foul mood since his spat with Ambrose.

How an obviously inferior, weaker specimen had gotten the better of him gnawed at his pride every moment of every day. He had tried to rationalize his loss several times, but knew in the end that Ambrose had beaten him entirely on his own merit; not through some sort of dastardly trick as he had initially tried to believe.

"Excuse me," a voice broke into his thoughts. He turned with narrowed eyes to regard the man beside him. American, judging by his accent and presumptuous attitude.

Cesaro sat up straight, intending to show him how a man of grace and pride behaved in the face of such behavior. "How may I help you?"

The man regarded him for a moment before speaking, and Cesaro was surprised by the gravity he found in his hazel eyes. "I hear that you know a friend of mine. I was wondering where I might find Dean Ambrose."

Just hearing the name made his fist clench involuntarily, an action that did not escape the man's notice. "If he is a friend, you should then know where to find him," Cesaro replied in clipped tones, turning back to the bar and his fresh drink.

He could see the other man start to smile, his lips pulled tight so that it appeared to be more of a grimace. "Perhaps I misspoke. Mr. Ambrose was a friend, a long time ago – in a different life. A life he chose to leave without honor. I intend to bring him the justice he so richly deserves."

Cesaro slowly turned back, his interest piqued. "And just how do you intend to do this?"

The man slowly climbed onto the bar stool beside him. "This is where I had hoped that you might be of some assistance. Other men out and around your tournament mentioned to me that you and he had a passing acquaintance prior to a falling-out of some kind." He stared at Cesaro to gauge whether this was the truth of the matter or not. To Cesaro's credit, his face gave no indication of his thoughts upon hearing this news. "They further directed me here, knowing that you would again be drowning your sorrows after having your ass kicked."

Cesaro stood involuntarily, his fists balling up angrily by his sides.

"Easy, now," the other man said in a low voice, holding his hands out with the palms facing Cesaro in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm not here to fight you. I'm simply here to discuss the matter with you, man-to-man. You lost to Ambrose. There's no shame in that. I can help you exact your revenge for the beating he so graciously bestowed upon you."

Those words rang through Cesaro's head. Unlike Mr. Ambrose, he was usually in complete control of his faculties despite his anger – despite any emotion that might run through his body, really. He was precise and controlled in every situation. It had served him well before tonight, and it would serve him exceedingly well now.

"What do you propose?" He asked, forcing his hands open and taking his place on the bar stool once more.

The other man rested his elbow on the bar and propped his head up on his hand. "That's going to depend entirely on what you tell me about Mr. Ambrose's life," he answered. "I want to take what's most precious to him in the world, and I want to make him watch while I do it."

Cesaro's lips split into a grin, and the other man mirrored his expression, revealing a slight gap between his two front teeth.

"I believe," he replied slowly, "that I might have just the information you require, Mr. –"

"Brooks," the other man said, extending a hand. "Phil Brooks."


	39. Chapter 39

Wade gnawed unhappily on his lower lip as he watched Molly sleep.

She had barely said a word to him after he'd procured a room, pausing only in her shuffling steps towards the bed to undress. He pulled the covers back for her and she shot him a look of deep gratitude before nearly falling into the bed and into sleep immediately.

He had covered her, gently running his hand over her forehead, before taking up his post in the chair beside the bed.

It was obvious that she hadn't slept well in a very long time. That brought about the concern that this was not the first time Ambrose had harmed her in some way since their chat, and in spite of the fact that he had inspected her and their behavior from a distance, he had missed the signs and allowed it to happen.

He shook his head in agitation. Ambrose would be unrecognizable once he had his chance to discuss the situation with him. He intended to discuss it with his fists. At length.

She murmured in her sleep and rolled over, her eyes opening briefly to take him in before slipping closed again, a small smile falling on her lips.

It was heartbreaking and maddening all at once.

He thought that he wouldn't be able to stay in that room. In fact, he hadn't intended to stay – he'd wanted to get her settled and return for her later this evening, but her quick drop into sleep had changed that plan. Now he didn't want to leave her alone, to awake in a strange room with no idea of what the future held for her. He wanted to be there when she woke, but he was too agitated to sit still.

As he had been entirely too often lately, he was torn between two undesirable choices. He elected to make the right choice this time and stay. He'd let her down so often, and it was time to turn that pattern of behavior around. It was time to start being the man that she deserved, and maybe in time she could truly forgive him and they could be happy together for the rest of their lives.

If that was the truth, however, he was unsure why he had a dark sense of foreboding. He knew, in the darkest corner of his heart, that they would never be together. It was much like the feeling that had led him to her today – he couldn't explain its origin, but it overpowered his senses.

This would be the last night she was in his life.

That thought immediately brought a wave of fear and grief, but he pushed it aside. He'd had his chance, and he'd had his time. There was no sense in grieving through the little time they had left; he merely intended to enjoy every last moment, and leave her with declarations of his love.

The decision made, he stood and quietly undressed before slipping into the bed to hold her while she slept.

"For the rest of my life," he murmured in her hair, lightly kissing her forehead. Swallowing hard, he said the word he truly meant, but didn't dare say when she was awake. "Forever."


	40. Chapter 40

Molly awoke with strong arms wrapped around her and had a brief moment of panic, wondering how Dean had found her this time. This changed to relief the moment her eyes flew open to see Wade's face, peaceful in sleep. She immediately forced herself to relax, burrowing her body deeper into his while she took several shaky breaths to calm herself.

"Nightmare?" Wade asked, sounding relatively alert as he ran his hand soothingly over his back.

"Just wasn't sure where I was for a moment," she answered, resting her head against his chest to hear his heart beating beneath her ear.

"You're safe," he assured her. "You're with me." He dropped a kiss on top of her head and pulled her closer, leaving no space between their bodies. He felt the stirrings of desire and tried to change the pattern of his thoughts, but found that he had been away from her for too long to ignore it completely.

He thought she must have noticed; she shifted her body very slightly but said nothing.

He was embarrassed for a few moments before remembering his fatalistic thoughts of before. If it truly was their last night, why not? Why shouldn't he show her the physical love that he'd wanted to from the very first day he'd laid eyes on her?

"Molly," he said gently, waiting for her to turn her face up to his before bending and pressing his lips to hers. "I love you," he murmured against her mouth before focusing the entirety of his attention on kissing her.

There were no more words after that. There didn't need to be.

For as long as it had been, and for as much as had transpired between them, they fell back into each other with perfect fevered desperation. Every touch, every kiss, served only to ignite the smoldering fire that had lie between them for so long.

Finally, gasping, Wade pulled away. There was no way to hide his arousal now. "You asked me, a long time ago, to be with you," he reminded her, trailing his fingers over her collarbone. "I've regretted saying we could wait ever since. I know I won't be your first, and I know these aren't the best circumstances…."

She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I love you," she said simply, "and I will always want you, no matter the circumstances."

Relief flooded through him, and he grabbed her roughly and kissed her, twining his hands in her hair.

"Slow down," she murmured, pulling back. "Give me something different than he did."

The words resonated through him, to his very core, and he immediately began touching and kissing her more softly, determined to show her that he was different in every possible way. When he finally slid his hand between her thighs, after an agonizingly slow process of arousing her, he was pleased to feel a light dampness on the outside of her panties. Barely suppressing a smile, he slid his fingers beneath her clothes and felt that his attention had had the desired effect.

Surprising him immensely, Molly only allowed him to stroke her for a moment before lightly pushing his hand away. Bringing herself to her knees, she undressed hastily and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His heart thudding dully in his ears, he wrapped one arm around her back and used the other to free himself, gently playing his head through her soft wetness.

Their eyes met, and after a brief hesitation she moved down while he thrust up, keeping their eyes locked on one another.

Wade struggled to keep his control, holding her a little more tightly than he should have. It was dizzying to finally be here, to finally be with her, and he could hardly believe that it was actually happening.

She was moving on top of him, moving entirely too quickly, bringing him too close to ending this beautiful, perfect moment entirely too soon.

"Hold on to me," he murmured against her ear, waiting for her grip to tighten before he rolled and ended up on top of her.

He moved slowly, twining their hands together and pressing his lips to hers. He focused his attention on giving her pleasure and was rewarded when she gave a strangled cry in his ear, her hips bucking against his as her body attempted to lift off the bed as her muscles tensed in pleasure.

A moan emitted from deep in his own chest and he only thought about speeding up before his own orgasm negated the need to do so. They were both still for several moments, entirely lost in what had just transpired.

With one last kiss, he rested his head on her chest like a small child requiring comfort would do. "I never want to leave this room," he admitted. "Can we stay here forever?"

She laughed softly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead and planting a kiss there. "We could," she answered thoughtfully. "But then what would happen to all our grand plans? We have lives to live yet," she reminded him. "There are so many things that we have yet to do, things that have yet to happen to us."

"That," he whispered, "is precisely what I'm afraid of."


	41. Chapter 41

While Wade was sliding inside his wife for the first time, Dean Ambrose was drinking. Heavily.

After he had returned home and it became obvious that he'd really fucked up this time, he slowly retraced his day. He remembered seeing Barrett briefly when he'd arrived, and then looking up an hour later to find that he'd gone.

He didn't return.

It had been an inconsequential detail until now, but as he thought further on the matter he was certain it was the reason Molly was gone.

And why shouldn't it be? He'd broken his promise. He'd snapped and hurt her again. He glared angrily at the bottle in his hand. It was all the alcohol's fault. He could keep his cool, he could be a good husband, but not when he was drinking.

In spite of that oddly observant and rational thought, he continued drinking. Now that she was gone, he had no reason to stay sober. He had no reason to do anything, he thought darkly. Maybe he should just leave, go to Spain like he'd wanted to do with her. He could get a fresh start.

He shook his head. He'd tried fresh start. He'd tried it a hundred times, and it always ended the same way. This time wouldn't be any different.

He paused with the bottle halfway to his lips. This time already _was _different, he realized. It was different because of Molly. He could run off and abandon the one thing in his life that had made him feel different, or he could try to find her and beg for her forgiveness once more. He'd sleep on the sofa for as long as was necessary. He'd bring her flowers every day; even shower her with affection – when she was ready for it, of course.

He could settle here. He could be happy. He could have her.

He stared down at the half-empty bottle in his hand, contemplating it with a gravity that would have been amusing to an outside party. Finally, he placed it back on the bar. If he had any hope of bringing her home, he needed to start now. He needed to be genuine this time, and that began and ended with his drinking.

Carefully, he counted out several bills from his pocket and left them on the bar. He left a sizable tip, because Molly was generous and would want him to be as well.

Weaving his way towards the door, he felt that he was finally coming around to who he needed to be. He swore that he'd never walk through that door again; he'd never let another drop of booze past his lips. He'd be everything Molly needed in a husband.

He didn't have long to revel in his determination. As he walked in to his home, fumbling blindly for the light, something cracked the back of his skull and he fell into thoughtless oblivion.


	42. Chapter 42

Antonio Cesaro grinned down at the prone form of Dean Ambrose. He watched the steady rise and fall of his body and knew that, thankfully, his blow hadn't killed him. A small trickle of blood ran from the back of his head where the point of impact had been, and he would wake up with a horrible headache in the morning – but he would wake up.

Half of his job was done. He looked to the stairs and managed a small smile. His instructions were to bring the lovely Mrs. Ambrose along, and he intended to do just that – after he had a little bit of fun reminding her what it was like to be with a dominant male.

With great care, he stepped over Ambrose's legs and began to climb the stairs slowly, unconcerned. Ambrose hadn't cried out, and so Molly might simply assume that he had fallen while drunk. She wouldn't have come to check on him either out of fear or out of severe indifference.

He'd picked up on parts of their story simply by listening around the training room. The red-headed Irishman and the tall British oaf were entirely unguarded when they thought everyone was otherwise occupied. It had made for an interesting story to be sure, but it had further diminished his respect for Mr. Ambrose.

The man wasn't, in fact, like him. He cared nothing for domination; he had done everything out of a misguided approximation of love. Love equated weakness, as he had shown time and time again with his foolish actions.

The door to the bedroom was ajar, and when he casually stepped through it he saw that the blankets on the bed were strewn about, but that it was empty. He turned quickly, expecting to see Molly hiding behind the door with some feeble, makeshift weapon – but she wasn't there.

This was a curious and unhappy development. It meant that he wouldn't have his fun, of course, but that paled in comparison to the realization that Mr. Brooks would be most displeased. He might, in turn, take his anger out on the unconscious asshole downstairs that much more severely and kill him faster. This, in Cesaro's mind, would be a tragedy and a wasteful death.

He wanted Ambrose to suffer greatly. He wanted to violate his wife in front of him, make her beg for his help – and to have him powerless to put an end to it. The last thing he would do was slice that bitch's throat and play in her blood. Then Mr. Brooks could have his moment, his time to do whatever he wanted.

The most important thing to Cesaro was that Ambrose knew he hadn't won in the end. He wanted him to know that he was weak; he was inferior to him in every way possible. Molly was the way to do that.

And if she had to die for her husband's sins…well, he rationalized, perhaps he was simply sending her to a better life than the one she had here.

Finally, satisfied that she wasn't in the house, he returned downstairs. Ambrose was still out cold, and still breathing. Grabbing him by the ankles, he dragged his lifeless body out onto the front porch. He carefully shut and locked the door behind them before picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

He couldn't deliver everything to Mr. Brooks tonight…but he could bring him the most important piece of the puzzle.


	43. Chapter 43

Molly burrowed deeper under the covers, snuggling her naked body into Wade's. She could feel him smiling as he kissed the top of her head, his hand lightly stroking up and down her back.

"I need to go soon, love," he murmured, his voice holding on to traces of sleep.

Those words brought panic through her chest. "Please stay," she said softly, placing one hand directly over his heart. "You don't have to go anywhere. You can stay here with me. We can leave today and make our new life."

Wade had been prepared for these words, and had thought a long time about which course of action to take. "If we both disappear today, Ambrose will know," he started his rehearsed speech with great reluctance. "It's best that you stay here – I've paid for the room in advance – and I stay in my house for several weeks. Once Ambrose has gone off in pursuit of you, I can get you and we will leave."

She looked up at him, her doubt apparent. "I know," he said, shaking his head. "I know it sounds like I'm trying to shrug you off again. Please, believe that I'm not. I want you to be safe, and I want us to have a life without the constant worry of when he will arrive to exact his revenge on us for leaving. This is the best way to do it."

She looked skeptical, but nodded slowly. He leaned forward and kissed her intensely, holding her close to him. "Now that I finally have you," he explained when he pulled away, "it is my intention to never have to let you go again."

That seemed to ease her mind slightly, and he spent several more glorious moments attempting to convince her of his sincerity before he slid out of bed and began to get dressed.

"I'll see you tonight," he promised suddenly, bending to kiss her once more. He could leave the house after Abigail was asleep. The prospect of sleeping beside her again was too enticing to pass up.

Those words seemed to be the balm on her soul that was necessary. He could see the fear subside in her eyes as she smiled at him, pulling him down for one more kiss.

He watched her briefly before shutting the door. She was already on her way back to sleep, her eyelids dropping and her breath evening out. His heart swelled with the prospect of their happy ending looming in front of them, and he made his way to the training center feeling light and carefree for the first time in a very long time.

He started training half-heartedly, simply wanting to put in an appearance so that whenever Ambrose showed up – hung-over and in an exceptionally foul mood, no doubt – he would be here, working, which would give credence to his assertions that he had no idea regarding Molly's whereabouts.

This glorious plan was interrupted with the arrival of Sheamus and the small bearded man who had shown up relatively recently; he couldn't be precisely sure when. Sheamus pulled him aside, looking around quickly to be sure no one was within earshot.

"Where's Molly?" He asked urgently. "The house is empty."

"She's safe," he assured him, watching the relief that flooded his face curiously. "You mean Ambrose isn't there?"

"Nowhere to be found," the bearded man spoke up, obviously agitated.

"I don't believe we've met," Wade said, extending his hand. "Wade Barrett."

"Daniel Bryan," he replied, shaking quickly. "You know for certain that his wife is safe?"

"Yes," Wade answered without hesitation. "What's this about?"

The other two men shared a quick glance, and Wade could tell just by their expressions that this was not good news.

"What?" He asked urgently, feeling his stomach begin to roil uncomfortably.

They shared that look again, and Wade felt his patience snap. "Somebody just bloody tell me!"

Sheamus began to speak quietly, urgently, and his heart plummeted in his chest.


	44. Chapter 44

"She's safe for now," Cesaro heard the Brit say, not taking any care at all with his voice. His interest was immediately piqued, but he attempted to keep his eyes trained on the bag in front of him. It wouldn't do to draw attention to himself now.

"We need to get her out of here immediately," the Irishman said. "Who knows what Ambrose will do to her if he finds her."

The Brit shook his head. "It's better that she stay close to us. If she was to leave and he found her, alone…I'm afraid she'd suffer the same fate as the others."

"She could still suffer the same fate now," the Irishman argued. "Someone needs to be with her if she stays, and both of our absences would be rather conspicuous if Ambrose stopped by."

"I'll go," the bearded American interrupted. Both men looked at him dismissively. "What?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't think I can protect her like you two big lugs can? I know Ambrose like the back of my hand. I'm fast and I'm strong. I can handle him."

The two other men shared a look, passing several unspoken words. Finally, with obvious reluctance, the Brit turned to the American. He grabbed him by the collar. "She is my world. If anything happens to her, I will find you."

The American didn't back down. "Why do you think I'm hunting down Ambrose to begin with? I had a she who was _my _world, and he took her. I won't let the same happen to you."

Cesaro grinned. Unfortunately for him, the little man didn't have any say in that matter.

Finally, he heard what he'd been waiting for – the name of a hotel, across town, and a room number. Making sure that the men were still otherwise engaged with their pointless arguments, he cautiously slipped out of the room and began to make his way quickly.

He might be able to beat the bearded man. He wouldn't be able to have his fun with Mrs. Ambrose there, but he could certainly take her to an alternate venue before bringing her to her reunion with her husband.


	45. Chapter 45

Dean finally awoke with a splitting headache and groaned before turning his head and expelling the contents of his stomach violently.

While that process was occurring, he noted several important facts. First, he wasn't alone. He could hear a man softly laughing from the opposite side of him. Second, his hands were chained and his range of motion severely limited. Third, the stone wall behind his bare back was cool and damp, which meant he was likely in a basement of some kind.

Fourth…he didn't have a basement in his home. His week simply wasn't getting any better, it would seem.

When there was nothing left in his stomach, he tried spitting the vile taste out of his mouth. It worked a bit, but not at all well enough to make him forget that he'd had a rather difficult drunken evening – as if he could, chained to a basement wall.

Finally, he slowly turned his head and regarded the man sitting beside him calmly.

"Dean," Phil Brooks said, nodding his head politely. "It's been a long time."

"Not long enough," Dean replied evenly.

Phil smiled. "No, for you…I suppose it hasn't been." He paused. "I hear some congratulations are in order."

Dean swallowed hard in spite of his vow to stay calm. "For beating that Mexican champion?" He asked dumbly, attempting to shrug his shoulders. "It isn't worth congratulating me."

The other man laughed. "Come on now, we both know you're not that stupid. I've heard quite a bit about your lovely misses. I'm looking forward to meeting her." Phil stood. "And I have a friend who is very anxious to see her again."

Dean's heart thudded dully in his chest. "Philip, listen – she has nothing to do with this. She has no idea who I am or what I've done. She's…. She's a nice kid. Don't punish her for my mistakes."

"Clara was a nice kid," Phil replied evenly. "You punished her for your mistakes, and you have made me suffer every moment since." He came around to the front of Dean casually, arms crossed over his chest, and stared into his eyes. "She was innocent, just like your little Molly is. But Molly's life is worth more to you than hers was – than your unborn child's was – why is that?"

Dean had to look away. "I don't know," he admitted.

"You don't know," Phil replied flatly. "Then I don't know why I should spare your wife." He stepped forward and grabbed Dean by the hair, pulling his head up and forcing him to meet his eyes. "All the pain and misery that I've felt this past year…Dean, I want that for you. And you have handed me the best way to make you suffer."

Desperate, powerless, and unfathomably angry, Dean spit directly in his face. Phil stepped back, incredulous for a moment. Then he started laughing as he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

"Normally I'd knock you unconscious," he said conversationally, "but I think that's what you want. I'm going to leave you here…in the dark…and let all of these unsettling thoughts of what I'm going to do to your wife pound through your head."

He began to walk away, ascending a staircase somewhere behind Dean. "I hear," he called back, "that it's quite poetic justice to do this. After all…my friend tells me it's one of the very things you did to your poor wife."


	46. Chapter 46

A gentle knock at the door had Molly scrambling for clothing.

Glancing guiltily at the clock as she shrugged herself back into her dress, she yawned and immediately smiled. It was hard to believe that she'd slept so well for so long, but she imagined that freedom did that to a person.

Freedom. It was a lovely concept, and was accompanied by an emotion that she had waited so long to feel. The lightness on her heart could scarcely be put into words.

Putting aside her happy thoughts for the moment, she cautiously opened the door and tried to shove it shut again immediately, her heart racing. Cesaro, however, had expected this and had managed to wedge his foot in the door during the short time it was open.

"I don't have time to play these games with you, Mrs. Ambrose," he said admonishingly, shoving the door hard and hitting her in the stomach with the doorknob. The force of the blow pushed her back to the bed, clutching her stomach and gasping for air. He casually stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back to look at him, he began to speak quietly and evenly. "We can do this one of two ways," he pulled a small knife that was all-too familiar out of his pocket. "You can either come with me quietly, like a good girl, or I can _make_ you come with me." He paused. "Might I suggest the first if you'd like to keep your skin intact?"

Her mind raced with fear and half-formed escape plans, and she asked the first question that came to mind as a stalling tactic. "Where are we going?"

He smiled, releasing her hair. "I am to take you to meet an old friend of your husband's. I believe you will find his story interesting." He offered her his hand. "Come now, Molly. Do not be foolish. This gentleman merely wants to speak to you."

"You'll bring me back here when we're done?" She asked uncertainly, already relatively resigned to this new fate. Her mind had run fervently, but had not created an acceptable plan other than going with Cesaro and hoping that fate intervened to give her the escape she sensed she would need.

"You have my word," he lied.

Her skin crawling uncomfortably, she reached out and took his hand. His skin was warm and dry, and she was surprised and a little disgusted when he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Just this last thing," he said, steering her towards the door, "and I think you will find Mr. Ambrose removed from your life entirely."

She said nothing. She was curious as to what these words meant, but thought better of asking. Cesaro was the type of man who relished having power over others, and if he thought that he had a bargaining chip in her curiosity whatever battle was to come was already lost.

They made their way out the front door, hands clasped tightly, and began to walk slowly up the block away from the city.

They were both far too preoccupied to notice the short, bearded man trailing them quietly.


	47. Chapter 47

Daniel Bryan was in the throes of a moral dilemma.

On the one hand, he realized that he should probably stop this man who was leading away Mrs. Ambrose. He more than likely intended to harm her in some way, and she was, by all accounts, merely an innocent bystander to this insanity.

On the other hand, there was obviously some reason this man wanted her. That reason, more than likely, would lead back to Mr. Ambrose. He reasoned that he could follow them and see what, exactly, was going on before making a decision. After all, she and this other man looked relatively cozy, hands twined together as they maintained an easy pace down the street.

Perhaps she wasn't as innocent as the others thought.

It was this thought more than the others that kept him back. He was still astounded that anyone had married Ambrose, and the other men's protestations that it had been against her will didn't sit well with him.

It may not be easy to buck tradition; it might be difficult to blaze your own path – but it was preferable to living inside the cage created by propriety. He found it hard to believe that anyone would have chosen to follow tradition and marry a man who was so obviously a disease placed upon the world.

He reminded himself quickly not to judge this woman he'd never met. Every life was fraught with its own difficulties, and perhaps the decisions she had made arose from places that he would never understand.

Shaking himself out of these philosophical thoughts, he returned his focus to the matter at hand – attempting to appear inconspicuous every time the large bald man glanced over his shoulder nervously. It necessitated stopping and turning his back quickly several times pretending to be interested by something else on the street, and on one occasion detouring behind a shrub, but he managed to avoid detection.

This became more of a challenge as they moved away from the city into more rural areas. Thankfully, the bald man seemed to now believe that they were alone and began checking back with decreasing frequency. He watched the two of them carefully, noting that they still held hands despite the fact that Mrs. Ambrose had tried half-heartedly to pull her hand away several times.

Finally, they veered away from the main road and began progressing up a walkway to a house that could have been home to Frankenstein and his monster. It was decrepit and desolate, and it made Daniel's skin crawl in spite of the fact that he was not a coward.

He moved much more cautiously now, hearing their footsteps crunch on the loose stone ahead of him and knowing that he would be discovered if he followed immediately. He darted to the overgrown grass beside the path and trailed them at a sizable distance, knowing that it could all be lost if he were to be discovered now.

He paused as he heard the woman cry out and watched, frozen, as the man slapped her in the face. She had been struggling against him, trying to get out of his grasp, but the stinging blow ceased her struggles. Daniel crept a few paces forward, attempting to hear what the man was saying to her – but his words flew on the wind, and he heard nothing.

Instead, he watched as Mrs. Ambrose was dragged towards a door barely hanging on one hinge and pushed inside. With one last searching look at the landscape, the bald man followed.


	48. Chapter 48

Molly was certain that she had stepped into a scene from one of the horror novels she'd read as a child. Dust and cobwebs festooned the walls and fixtures of this dimly-lit house, broken glass decorating the floors from windows long since smashed, perhaps on a dare by school boys or by more sinister perpetrators.

"Go," Cesaro said impatiently, shoving her forward. Her feet moved unsteadily, knowing that he was taking her to see her own personal monster.

This fear was confirmed when they paused in front of an open door looking down into a black pit. She only knew to orient it downwards because she could see three steps descending into the darkness.

"After you, my sweet lady," Cesaro said mockingly, gesturing down the stairs.

"Is it safe?" She asked hesitantly.

"You will not fall," he assured her, a rough hand on her back pushing her forward once more. "You will get halfway down and you will see a light. The stairs curve towards your right."

Uncertainly, she took short, shuffling steps forward, her hand groping against the cold stone wall to attempt to keep some sense of balance in the dark. Surprisingly, Cesaro was patient with her shuffling progress – she supposed that was because it _was_ progress – and didn't rush her. As she felt the wall turn, she could finally see a bit of light ahead.

Moving with a bit more assurance, she tried to tell herself not to be afraid. Cesaro had told her during their journey that no harm would fall on her head. She could tell he was being honest because he admitted that he'd considered harming her, but had changed his mind. He felt that Dean seeing her in what he called her "perfect state" would hurt him more than seeing her injured.

"After all," he'd said, "he has seen that you were beaten a few too many times now for it to truly pierce his heart."

He'd been right, of course. Still, she had great fear moving forward. He certainly could be lying to her, but she saw no reason for him to do so.

The stairwell was nearly fully illuminated now, but she couldn't see the room into which she was descending. Pausing briefly and taking a deep breath after her feet had left the last stair, she turned and saw a strange man sitting in a chair contemplating the wall with a seriousness that was almost amusing.

"Mrs. Ambrose," he said politely, keeping his eyes on the wall as he stood. "Please, come in."

She wasn't terribly shocked to find that she was shaking, but she stepped forward regardless. The man finally turned his eyes to her, and he smiled warmly. "My name is Philip Brooks," he said, stepping towards her and offering a hand. "I am an old friend of your husband's."

"Mr. Brooks," she said cordially, taking his hand automatically. "May I ask why I'm here?"

"In due time," he replied, waving his hand. "Would you like to say hello to your husband?"

Part of her had known. Very slowly, she craned her head over her shoulder to the wall that had held Mr. Brooks' attention upon her arrival.

There he hung, shirtless and caked with dirt and dried blood. His hands were fastened to the wall with honest-to-goodness chains. He looked as if his nose had been broken.

In spite of his appearance, his eyes followed her intently. "Molly," he croaked.

Her hand flew to her mouth against her will, and she found herself shaking her head. While she had no true affection for him, her heart couldn't take the sight of another human being suffering so badly.

She turned towards Mr. Brooks, who was studying her with interest. "I'm not sure," she said slowly, "what Mr. Ambrose has done to you –"

"Mr. Ambrose?" He interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "That's an odd way to address one's husband."

She swallowed hard. "That is not the issue at hand –"

"Oh but it is," he replied, stepping towards her again. "You're not sure why you're here, Mrs. Ambrose. Are you?"

"No," she admitted.

"Then allow me to decide what the issue at hand is." He paused. "Tell me why you address your husband in such a way."

She shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know," she admitted.

"You don't call him 'Dean' or 'my love' or even use the phrase 'my husband.' Why?" He pressed.

She fell silent, reluctant to begin discussing her relationship when she didn't know why either of them was here. "What has he done to you?" She finally asked. "Please. Tell me."

He seemed to sense her desperation, and he gestured her towards the chair he'd been occupying. She sat gratefully, giving her trembling legs relief.

He was quiet for a long time, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced slowly back and forth. She caught Dean's eyes boring into her face, and she immediately looked away.

"I'm an American," Mr. Brooks finally started. "I was born and raised in a city called Chicago. Have you ever heard of it?" Molly shook her head. "No matter," he shrugged. "It's really just a place to start.

"I had two brothers and a sister. The brothers are inconsequential to this story, except for the fact that they taught me how to fight and scrap and scrounge my way if I ever wanted anything in this world. My sister, however – she is central. Her name was Clara, and she was lovely.

"That's not just my brotherly pride speaking, either. Everyone who saw her thought she was lovely. Wasn't she, Dean?" He asked snidely, suddenly rounding on Ambrose, who remained silent and stoic.

"I lived a harsh life," he continued after a moment. "I fought to live, not unlike some of the men you've already met. I tried to keep my sister out of that life. I tried to give her something better than that.

"In spite of my best efforts, however, she was soon ingrained in the same lifestyle I was. She didn't fight; I wouldn't allow that. But she did…other things…that I'm not proud of, and that I doubt she was proud of. But we did what we had to do," he concluded, shrugging as if this was simply an indisputable fact of life.

"Your Mr. Ambrose changed our lives. He came in from Washington, looking to escape a past he spoke little of. We didn't find this unusual; in fact, it was quite commonplace. I welcomed him into my circle and eventually into my home and my family.

"That's when he ripped my life apart."

Molly's sense of dread had been growing throughout this little tale, and she could bear the agony no longer. "What did he do?" She whispered, unsurprised to find that tears had already begun to make their way down her cheeks.

Mr. Brooks bit his lip. "Clara liked him," he continued after a moment as if he hadn't heard her. "I didn't see any reason to object. They had their fun, but they were both stupid about it and she wound up with child."

Molly glanced to Dean for the first time to see his reaction. His expression was completely blank.

"He has a child?" She asked, her voice coming out in a pained whisper.

"No," Mr. Brooks answered, shaking his head and sounding disgusted. "I tried to allow him to do the right thing and marry her. He agreed." He turned and met her eyes. "And here is why I am so fascinated with you, Mrs. Ambrose, you who have married the man whom my beautiful sister wasn't good enough for. Because two days before they were supposed to be married, I found her floating face-down in the river and your Mr. Ambrose was nowhere to be found."


	49. Chapter 49

The words flew through Molly's chest and she bent at the waist, attempting to keep herself from crying out.

She had known prior to this that he was brutal and cruel…but a murderer? It took her several moments to attempt to process this and she found that she simply couldn't.

Finally sitting up, tears rolling freely down her cheeks, she looked to Mr. Brooks.

"I…am so sorry," she managed to choke out.

He looked at her with a slight expression of sympathy. "You didn't know?"

She shook her head. "No," she answered vehemently. "None of us did."

In spite of her strong urge not to, she found her eyes moving to Dean. His expression hadn't changed, and he said nothing. After several long, uncomfortable minutes she finally tore her eyes away from him.

"I should thank you, Mr. Brooks," she said dully. "You've probably saved my life."

From the corner, Cesaro gave a small snort of laughter. Molly's head shot up to see Mr. Brooks looking at her sadly.

"In fact, Mrs. Ambrose, I have not," he admitted. Surprising her, he knelt in front of her and took his hands in hers. "He took the most important thing in my world from me. Do you see that it's only fitting I do the same to him?"

She began to shake even more ferociously than before. "Please," she said simply. "I don't want to die for him."

"I understand," he said slowly. "Unfortunately, I have come too far and suffered too long to be swayed from this course of action." He turned to look at Ambrose over his shoulder and spoke to him directly. "You will have the death of yet another innocent woman on your hands. I simply hope this one actually hurts you."

Molly closed her eyes, sniffling. She supposed she was ready. There had never been another way out of this mess; not really. She sent loving thoughts out on the air to Wade, hoping that somehow he knew that he had been on her mind and in her heart at her last moments.

"I am truly sorry," Mr. Brooks said close to her ear.

"Just be quick," she replied, amazed by the strangled quality of her voice. "Set me free."

"I promise."

"No!" Another male voice broke out from behind them. "You have _no_ right!"

Forcing her eyes open, she turned in bewilderment to see a familiar-looking small bearded man rushing towards them, glowering at Mr. Brooks.

"Friend of yours?" Mr. Brooks asked casually, lowering the knife he'd been ready to plunge into her chest.

"I have no idea who he is," Molly replied truthfully.

On the wall, Dean began to cackle madly. "Daniel Bryan," he named him. "Daniel. Fucking. Bryan."


	50. Chapter 50

Dean had been wondering just how this situation could get any worse the moment before Bryan stepped in.

He was about to lose Molly, but he found that he was oddly detached from that particular situation. He resolved to kill Brooks the moment he could, and he would worry about his broken heart after that. He would not beg; he would not plead. He would simply take his revenge at the first possible opportunity.

Now, with two men to contend with, he was unsure how the situation would change.

He would not, it would seem, be the only one who was unsure how to proceed.

"Daniel Bryan," Brooks repeated, his forehead scrunching in consternation. "Why are you here, Mr. Bryan?"

"You're not the only person who was wronged by Ambrose," Bryan replied hotly. "I was, too. In fact, so was the woman you're so willing to sacrifice in the name of blind revenge."

Brooks turned to Molly. "Is this true?"

She glanced up at Dean briefly before looking away.

"This wasn't her choice," Bryan answered for her. "I heard the whole story. A drunken father, a gambling debt, and being sold into servitude are only the start of the life of Molly Parker-Ambrose."

The knife slowly dropped by Phil's side, and he lowered himself so that his face was level with hers. "Tell me," he said simply.

Molly swallowed hard. "There isn't much to tell," she lied. "Mr. Bryan told you the basic story. My father was a drunk who was in over his head. He owed a debt to Mr. Ambrose's employer, Mr. Barrett. Mr. Ambrose took me from my home and presented me to Mr. Barrett, who kindly allowed me to stay and work in his home."

"Kindly," Mr. Brooks snorted. "Very kind indeed. How did you come to be married to the man who had taken you?"

She looked away again. "Mr. Ambrose decided that he wanted me, for reasons I couldn't explain. He persisted in several ways before…." She trailed off, feeling the blood rush to her face.

"Before he raped her," Bryan finished. "Raped her and took her into his home, only to force her into marriage several weeks later."

Brooks glanced up at Bryan thoughtfully before turning his attention back to Molly. "Is that true?" He asked gently. She didn't trust her voice, so she merely nodded miserably.

Brooks sighed heavily and pulled himself to his full height. He was obviously torn between his sense of compassion and his deep desire for revenge. Finally, he shook his head.

"You're innocent in all this," he said thoughtfully. "I held onto the notion that somehow you were complicit, that you knew what your husband was and had married him willingly. Knowing the truth…I can't hurt you. But what I can do," he reached and placed two fingers under her chin, bringing her gaze up to his, "is give you a new life, one away from him. Is that something you would like?"

She tried to look at Dean, and he admonished her gently to focus on him. After several moments, barely visibly, she nodded.

"It means I will kill him," he explained explicitly. "Is it still something you want?"

Dean could see tears roll down her cheeks even as she nodded. It stung him deeply, but he couldn't say that he blamed her for that decision.

Brooks leaned down and clasped her hands. "Would you like to watch?"

"No," she whispered, horrified. "No, I don't want to see it."

"That's all right. I'll have Antonio take you home before it's done."

She shook her head vehemently. "Please don't leave me alone with him. He…Mr. Ambrose allowed him to…."

Brooks nodded knowingly. "I understand. Perhaps Mr. Bryan…?"

"No," Daniel answered roughly. "I want to watch him die."

"I'll wait until your return."

"How can I be sure?"

Brooks shrugged and spread his hands wide. "You can't. But I give you my word."

"I don't know you," Bryan snapped. "I don't trust you or your word." He paused. "We both take her. Leave the Swede here, upstairs. We come back and we do this together."

Punk looked down at Molly to see if she had any objections to this proposal. When he was met with wide, hopeful eyes he nodded. "Very well. Perhaps you can tell me your tale on the way back." He offered Molly his hand and helped her to her feet. "Do you have anything you'd like to say to him?" He asked.

Her tears renewed, though she made no sound as she shook her head fiercely. "All right," he said gently, patting her shoulder. "That's all right."

Dean watched her being led towards the stairs, and he couldn't let her go without at least trying to explain. "You were always different, Molly," he yelled, the desperation in his voice surprising him. "You were different from all the others."

Her shoulders began to shake wildly as she turned and left his line of sight, finally leaving the hellacious nightmare behind her.


	51. Chapter 51

The walk back to the hotel was silent.

Molly was still vainly attempting to process what she had heard from both Mr. Brooks and Mr. Bryan, the stories of two beautiful women taken before their time and the several more who had perished in the same manner after encountering her husband.

In spite of her mental chastisements, she found that her thoughts centered on why _she_ wasn't currently floating somewhere, free of this life and all of the problems that accompanied it. There had been times when she had thought that he would do such a thing, but he never had.

What he had said to her as she was leaving – that she was different – struck her hard in the chest. How was she different? Why did she deserve his mercy when the others had not?

These thoughts occupied her until they reached the door of the hotel. Absently, she thanked both men for accompanying her and, absurdly, nearly wished them luck with their next task. She realized how odd that would be and left it alone.

Mr. Brooks placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry," he told her, "that we didn't meet under different circumstances. I hope life brings you joy from now forward."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she responded. "I hope you find peace."

His lips flicked upward briefly, and he nodded at her as she stepped away. She looked to Mr. Bryan. "For you as well, sir. I am sorry."

Bryan didn't reply; he merely bowed his head formally in her direction.

Glancing back only briefly at both men's haunted faces, she continued on towards her room. So many lives had been touched by…and none in a good way. She was torn between righteous anger and natural sympathy.

His life had not been easy, and he would never have a chance at redemption. It saddened her to know that.

She tried to focus on something different; focus on anything else, but her thoughts constantly returned to her disbelief that she was alive and that Dean would shortly be the precise opposite.

She forced her thoughts to Wade, and was dismayed to realize that he would be arriving here tonight to see her. She wasn't sure that she could tolerate another man's presence at the moment. She was preoccupied and grieving, in her own strange way, for her husband.

She found herself pacing across the room, attempting to come to terms with Wade's presence, and found that she simply couldn't. She needed to be alone now if she ever had any hope of returning to normalcy after the strange journey she'd been on.

Contemplating her options, she came to the realization that the most likely place she could achieve that was the home she had shared with Mr. Ambrose. Sighing, she hunted down a pen and paper to leave Wade a brief note –

'I'm all right,' she wrote quickly, knowing he'd be immediately concerned. 'Terrible day. I'm sure you've heard. Need to be alone. Please don't look for me.' Hesitating briefly, she added 'I love you' before scribbling her name at the bottom.

She left it in the middle of the bed and began her trek, her head spinning wildly. She walked for a long time, in the most circuitous route possible, and night had begun to fall by the time she made it to the house.

Creeping inside, she immediately proceeded to the bathroom with the hopes of a long, hot shower. She kept the lights off in spite of how eerie it felt, not wanting to draw any attention to the house.

Undressing, she was overcome with a wave of grief. She was grieving for what her life had become, for all of the horrible things she had learned, and for the person she had been, whom she would never find again. Clutching the sink desperately, she rode out the tide of her tears until they had subsided into sniffles. She found her eyes focused on the plain gold band on her left hand, contemplating it with fear and anger.

She wanted to rip it from her body and throw it, to have it disappear and never be seen again. She wanted to hide that part of herself desperately, but a deeper part knew that she might regret this action later.

Instead, she carefully slid it off of her finger and rested it on the ledge of the sink before turning her back and starting the water for the shower.

She remained there for a long time, grateful that she couldn't tell the difference between the water raining down on her face and the tears that slipped from her eyes. Weakened and exhausted, she began to absently wash her hair, attempting to push away all of the conflicted emotions that swirled in her head.

"You dropped this," a familiar voice, an impossible voice, suddenly intruded into her thoughts. She forced her eyes open and looked down to see a dirty, bloody hand coming from behind her, cradling the simple, golden circle of her wedding band.

She began trembling, scarcely able to believe that this was real. She blinked rapidly, attempting to blink away the hand, but it remained when she opened her eyes.

"Hello, Dean," she said softly.


	52. Chapter 52

Wade punched the bag in front of him viciously, attempting to push out all of his fear and frustration. It wasn't working.

He glanced across the room at Sheamus, who looked just as agitated as he was. If he admitted it, he was angry with the Irishman for not telling him the truth earlier. He had known that Molly was in danger, and he had let her stay with a murderer.

A small, logical voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he'd done the same to her once – he had known the danger, but he had left her there.

_That_ was different, his mind protested hotly, and he threw another punch that hit so hard the force reverberated up through his arm and into his shoulder.

"We have a problem," a low, urgent voice said from the vicinity of his elbow. Glancing down, he saw Daniel Bryan and another man he didn't recognize.

"Where's Molly?" He demanded, turning to face both of them.

"That's the problem," the other man explained calmly. Wade already didn't like him.

"Talk fast," he snapped, taking a moment to gesture Sheamus over to the group.

Bryan took a deep breath. Wade knew at that moment that he wasn't going to like what the little man had to say, and he further promised himself that he would hold his temper.

"I was too late in getting to Molly. Antonio Cesaro beat me there. I watched him take her away, and rather than fight him for the privilege of her company I decided to follow them and see where they went."

Wade was right about disliking the man's explanation, and he felt his fists clench. Sheamus had joined them by now, and Bryan repeated this part for him.

"Are you daft?" Sheamus asked flatly. "She could have been killed!"

"She wasn't," the other man said.

"And who the bloody hell are you?" Sheamus rounded on him.

"Phil Brooks. The man who requested Molly's presence."

That stopped the two men for a moment, allowing Brooks to continue. "I had Mr. Cesaro…procure…Mr. Ambrose for me. Much like Mr. Bryan here, I suffered a loss at his hands and it was my sincere hope to make him suffer as well. When I heard that he had married, I realized that his wife was the key to the whole process."

Sheamus lunged forward, but Wade quickly put out a hand to stop him. "Obviously he didn't hurt Molly," he said through gritted teeth, "or he wouldn't be here. So let's give him a minute to finish, shall we?"

Sheamus actually growled at him, but he did step back. Brooks glanced between the two, amusement and curiosity shining on his face. Wade waved him on impatiently.

"I didn't hurt her," he confirmed. "Bryan and I took her back to the hotel and began our return to Mr. Ambrose. We intended to kill him."

"Why didn't you?" Sheamus snapped.

"He was gone when we got there," Bryan said. "Antonio Cesaro is dead, and Dean Ambrose is somewhere out there looking for Molly."


	53. Chapter 53

"You dropped this," the voice behind her repeated simply, the hand thrusting at her a little more violently. "You should put it back on."

She couldn't move. "Dean," she whispered, unsure of what to say next.

"Shut the fuck up, Molly," he snapped. "Just don't. Not right now. I am immeasurably fucking pissed off, and if you say one more word I will do something I regret." He paused. "Take the fucking ring," he nearly yelled. "It's until death do us part, sweetheart, and I'm still breathing."

Mechanically, her hand moved to take that small circle and she slipped it back on her finger. Soap had begun to run down her face, and she automatically stepped under the water to wash it away.

She wondered briefly if she was hallucinating, her guilty conscience imaging this scenario. However, as she watched dirt and blood slide past her legs towards the drain, she realized that even her imagination wasn't this detailed.

They finished their shower in silence. Molly kept her eyes away from Dean's face, terrified to anger him further. But she did see glimpses of him, she felt his body against hers, and knew with certainty that this was real.

Finally, he reached around her and turned the water off. He stepped out into the darkened bathroom and, after a moment, she felt his hands wrap around her waist. He lifted her up and over the bathtub, depositing her gently on the floor and handing her a towel.

He was shuffling, searching for something, and when he stood and struck a match she caught a brief glimpse of his puffy, swollen face as he lit the cigarette clamped between his teeth. The light extinguished abruptly, leaving them with only the faint orange glow from his mouth.

"Upstairs," he instructed quietly. "Wear what I put out on the bed for you. I'll be up in a minute."

She numbly walked by him, stopping when he reached out to grab her hand. He exhaled a lungful of smoke into the air between them before bending down and lightly brushing his lips against hers.

"Be quick about it," he added softly.

She hesitated a moment before continuing on, moving slowly in the dark. As she rounded the corner to move up the stairs, she saw that he had put a candle on in the bedroom. It beckoned to her, and she moved more steadily towards it.

The curtains had been drawn so that no light would slip outside. On the bed, what appeared to be a sheer white slip waited – it took her a moment to place it. Abigail's fun idea of a wedding gift, given in front of her husband and with great amusement. She'd vowed never to wear it, but she knew better than to attempt to disobey Dean on the basis of what now seemed a petty feud.

She pulled it on quickly, thinking that she might as well be wearing nothing as she glanced down to see her body through a white film. Everything was perfectly visible.

Her hands were shaking. Attempting to distract herself from her fear, she sat and quickly brushed her hair. When that task was completed and Dean had not arrived, she set about putting on a layer of loose powder and lipstick.

She had just reached for her eye pencil when Dean walked in, wearing only his shorts and carrying an armload of filthy clothing.

He eyed her critically for a moment. "Do you really think looking pretty is going to save you?" He asked flatly.

She shook her head. It had started as merely something to do, but she also realized during the process that if she was going to die here tonight she was going to do it looking beautiful and regal, not frightened.

He moved to stand behind her, lightly tracing his fingers over the straps on her shoulders. "Then why bother with it, Molly?" He asked softly, running his hands down to cup her breasts. "Why bother if in the end you're just going to rot in the ground?"

She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the fingers that were roughly pinching her nipples. "You could ask that question of anything," she answered quietly. "We all rot in the ground in the end. I'll rot how I see fit."

He stopped and, after a tense moment, gave a low chuckle. "You never cease to amaze me," he admitted. "Truthfully, I haven't decided yet what I want to do about our…situation. It's a unique one that I'm sure will require a lot of discussion. Don't you agree?"

She wanted to tell him that she did not; that his words and his thoughts didn't matter. He was a murderer, and she wouldn't stay with him. She was astounded, then, to find herself saying that she did agree.

"And our discussions should take place privately, should they not? This is a matter between husband and wife. We don't want any outside interference."

She thought of Wade and the fate he would meet for interfering if she didn't agree with this point. "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I think that's best."

She caught the vague motion of him smiling in the mirror. "Then come with me, darling," he said softly, extending his hand. "I know just the place for us."


	54. Chapter 54

Wade was frantic as he walked out the door of the training facility and immediately began walking towards the hotel.

He could have killed Bryan and the other man for not checking there first, and he held out the fervent hope that Molly was still there – alone. Although if he was honest with himself, he almost wanted Ambrose to be there. That way, he could end this nightmare once and for all.

In spite of his chosen career path, he wasn't normally a violent man. He would make an exception for Ambrose. He didn't care about the revenge so deeply desired by Brooks or Bryan; he cared about Molly's safety. He would do whatever was necessary to insure that she remained unharmed from this moment forward.

He began to pick up his pace, jogging for a moment before breaking into a full-out sprint. He thought that if he could just get there quickly, he could save her.

He burst through the door of her room, panting, and immediately saw that he was too late. He swore loudly and nearly turned around to leave before something on the bed caught his eye.

He went and picked it up, expecting a gloating taunt from Ambrose – but it was from Molly. He let out a sigh of relief until he read through it more carefully. "'Please don't look for me,'" he murmured. "Goddamnit."

She could be anywhere. She would think that Ambrose was dead and that she was safe, and he had likely found her by now. She could be dead herself, although he doubted that – not unless she had managed to anger him so deeply that he lost control.

No, Ambrose would want to play with her for a while. The thought made him sick.

If she'd just stayed _here_, she would have been safe. Instead, she had to run off and…what? Mourn the man who had beaten her, raped her, and forced her into a life that she hated? What, exactly, was she mourning?

He closed his eyes and tried to push these bitter thoughts away; tried to stem the tide of his rising temper. He could ask her these questions once he found her and she was safe. Now was not the time for him to question what had led her to leave; he simply needed to find out where she had left to go and hope that Ambrose hadn't discovered her yet.


	55. Chapter 55

Molly very reluctantly took Dean's hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She stood uncomfortably for a moment while his eyes roamed over her body, and she expected him to touch her again – but he did not.

Instead, he gently led her over to the built-in bookcase on the wall. Smiling slightly at her, he bent to the ground and flipped the decorative molding along the floor to reveal a gap. Amazed, she watched as he swung the case out to reveal a small hollow between the two bedrooms.

She turned to him, shocked. He laughed. "Accidental discovery of mine," he explained. "The other built-in does the same. I was going to surprise you with a nursery when the time came."

Those words caused her stomach to turn slightly, and he must have seen the expression change on her face. She watched him rapidly open and close his hand and knew he was trying to pull back his anger.

"Now, it will suit our purposes wonderfully," he said after a moment. "You and I, some much-needed privacy in our own home." He gestured ahead. "After you, my love."

Ducking slightly, she stepped into the space. It was cool and dark, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around her body. Dean followed close behind her and struck a match to light the flame on a kerosene lantern that was already here. He stepped out and blew out the candle in the bedroom while Molly studied her surroundings.

The place had obviously been used recently. It had been tidied, dusted, and a mattress with new sheets and blankets placed in the small area of the floor. The lantern was a safe distance away on a small table with a single chair. Glancing up, she saw the porthole window near the top of the roof – she had always wondered which room it corresponded to.

Turning slowly, she met Dean's eyes. Questioningly, she gestured to the furniture. The right side of his lip curled up into a half-smile. "You didn't believe I would actually spend weeks sleeping on a sofa, did you?" He asked, turning back towards the built-in and pushing it shut. "It was my way of spending time beside you, even when you wouldn't allow it."

She watched, fascinated, as he rested on the floor and pulled a wire attached to the back of the piece of molding. It folded up neatly into place, and he secured it with a hook attached to the wall. Crossing the short distance to the other wall, he did the same with the other built-in.

"There," he said firmly. "Now it's just you and I."

She tried not to let those words push fear through her heart. "How did you find this?" She asked instead.

He nodded towards the mattress and, taking his directions, she sat. "Entirely by accident," he explained as he went to join her. He took a blanket from behind them and draped it over both of their shoulders, resting a hand on her knee. "I was agitated and went to pull the bookcase out of the wall. All that popped was the molding, and then I noticed the void. It took me a few minutes to figure out, but once I did…." He shrugged.

They fell silent for a long while, Dean's thumb lightly stroking her knee.

"So," Molly started quietly, "you're alive."

He gave a humorless chuckle. "I am alive. How do you feel about that?"

She glanced at him before looking away again. "Truthfully, I'm not sure. I…." She stopped, shaking her head. "I don't know what to think right now, Dean."

"You wanted me dead," he said flatly, his stroking becoming a bit harsher.

"Because I thought you killed those women," she explained.

"I _did_ kill those women," he snarled. "I killed those women, and I would do it again without regret." He paused, amused by the wide-eyed stare that accompanied his admission. "Do you still want me dead, Molly?"


	56. Chapter 56

Molly's heart stopped for a moment before resuming, picking up a frantic pace.

"You're lying," she said softly.

The smile fell off his face, and he looked momentarily disgusted. "No," he assured her. "No, I'm not."

She moved away from him involuntarily, and he swung towards her angrily, pulling her back to him. "Don't," he snapped. "Stay here."

She closed her eyes, twin tears of fear rolling down her cheeks. "Why?" She asked in a pained whisper.

"Why?" He repeated, laughing before shrugging. "I wanted to do it."

"Then why haven't you killed me?"

He studied her for a moment before finally looking away uncomfortably. "I've never wanted to kill you," he said. "Well…there have been times I would have liked to, but it was never like the other ones. I told you earlier today…you were always different."

"How am I different, Dean?" She asked gently, realizing that her only chance of survival lay in making him believe her sympathy towards his plight. Swallowing down her revulsion, she reached out and covered his hands with hers. "Please, tell me. I want to understand."

He was silent for several moments, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. "I feel like there's a monster inside of me sometimes," he said flatly. "A voice I can't ignore telling me that I'm no good, that I'm a fuck-up, and that I'll never escape my true nature. I usually drink to shut it up, but sometimes that makes it worse.

"You weren't the first woman that voice snarled in my ear about. That voice wanted you, like it wanted the others – Clara and Brianna, the ones you heard about, and Susan and Emily and Nora – the ones you didn't. It wanted all of them. But that voice _howled_ for you, screamed that it wanted you so badly. It pulled me towards you and wouldn't let me push you away.

"I thought it would be the same thing – charm you into bed, have my fun, then let that voice take over. Let it take what it wanted – take you to the river and wash away your sins. Let you be perfect until you started to rot in the ground.

"But it didn't want that," he said, shaking his head. Even he seemed surprised by that. "It hasn't wanted that with you. It still growls in my ear sometimes, mostly when you're off with Wade or being an obstinate bitch, but it's settled itself now that you're around."

She looked at him and let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Do you know why that might be?"

He met her eyes briefly. "The others…they weren't broken like we are, Molly. They were whole, beautiful, happy people. I thought I needed someone like that to bring me to that state myself. I realize now that I was wrong. I needed another broken person, someone I could heal while they healed me."

He surprised her by leaning forward and touching her face, bringing his lips to hers. "You're my redemption," he explained. "Now do you understand why I can never let you leave me?"


	57. Chapter 57

Molly's first prevailing thought was that this man was positively insane. This thought was immediately followed by the notion that she needed to find a way to get away from him, and quickly.

Sensing that, he reached for her and she automatically pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "This is just…this is a lot to think about."

He let his hand fall back into his lap. "It is," he admitted. "You haven't had the time with it that I have. I've accepted it by now, and I tend to take for granted how difficult it must be." He paused. "Are you frightened?"

She glanced up briefly. "Terrified," she admitted. "I want to believe that you won't hurt me, but you already have. How can I know this won't escalate further?"

He nodded slowly. "I suppose you don't," he replied. "I need to find a way to prove it to you."

They fell silent, Molly trying desperately to think of how to phrase her screaming thought – if he wanted to prove that he wouldn't hurt her, he should perhaps start by not holding her captive. That would only anger him, and he was obviously in a very delicate state at the moment.

"Would you be upset if I went to sleep?" She surprised herself by asking. It was, honestly, a way to be alone with her thoughts in this room – but the expression on his face made her realize it was a request he hadn't expected.

"You trust me?" He asked, his voice full of disdain – but mixed with a bit of hope as well.

"You haven't killed me yet," she replied, "in spite of ample opportunity to do so."

He stared at her for several moments before standing up and going to the lantern, turning it on its lowest setting. She lie down as he began to come back, automatically taking up a position closer to the wall – if she wanted to get out of the bed, she would have to climb over him.

That also seemed to put him at ease as he rested beside her. After several moments, he draped an arm over her and pulled her close to him.

Molly thought that she would never sleep like that, but after the emotional trauma of the day and this evening she dropped off relatively quickly. Dean stayed awake, marveling at the fact that his wife was sleeping in his arms after he had just made the biggest confession of his life to her.

Perhaps there was hope for them after all, he thought, brushing hair away from her face. His mind turned on how they could possibly overcome this last hurdle between them; the revelation of that final, brutal secret.

First, they would obviously have to leave London. He would have liked to do so immediately, but knew that taking her so quickly would only deepen the distrust she currently had of him.

Second, they would…. Second…. He shook his head. Well, damned if he knew what else they would have to do. Leaving London was clear, but the rest of it was an unhappy mess in his mind. He didn't know what to do.

He shook his head. The important thing was that she hadn't run. She had stayed by his side. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Almost without thought, he pulled her closer, holding her as if she was a life preserver and the only thing keeping him from drowning. In a way…she was.

After a long time, he too was able to sleep.


	58. Chapter 58

A slow, steady thump woke Molly abruptly.

She hadn't been sleeping well regardless, her eyes opening several times but her body remaining still lest she disturb Dean. He seemed to be at peace, at least, and she wanted this time alone to consider her situation.

She had to leave. It was simple and abundantly clear that this was her only course of action. Dean was dangerous and demented – as long as he believed that she was his saving grace, she might be all right…but how long would he believe it?

She couldn't be sure. And the very moment that she had outlived her usefulness, he would drag her to some river and 'wash away her sins.'

She had lived a relatively quiet life and thus she figured she had a lot of sinning left to do yet. She'd be damned if she let this man take away her chance at that.

So she listened to that thumping noise intently, praying that Dean would sleep through it.

"Molly!" A familiar voice yelled, and she nearly cried out in relief before remembering that Wade wouldn't be able to find her tucked away in this little cubbyhole. Calling out to him would only wake Dean, and then she would be in a world of trouble.

Moving very slowly, she began to disentangle herself from Dean. She hoped fervently that Wade would stop calling for her, would stop moving, and she could then easily convince Dean that she simply needed to use the bathroom if he awoke.

She had just begun to wriggle away from him and down the bed when his arm shot back around her and pulled her up to him. He immediately clamped his free hand over her mouth to keep her from yelling.

"Where," he growled in her ear, "do you think you're going, my little love?"

"Molly!" Wade picked that precise moment to yell, sounding a bit closer than he had before.

Dean grinned, although he was shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk," he clucked his tongue at her softly. "I expected better of you."

She tried to apologize behind his hand, but her words were muffled. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Can't hear you, love. Not dumb enough to move my hand. It will have to wait."

She nodded slowly, and after several uncomfortable moments Dean lie beside her once more, his arm wrapping around her even more tightly to pull her body into his.

She could feel his breath blowing across the top of her head, his heart pounding against her arm. They both listened as Wade's footsteps came through the house, and Molly felt her eyes fill with tears as he entered the bedroom. Practically close enough for her to touch, yet he had no idea that she was here, begging him to somehow find her.

As Wade called her name once more, she became aware of Dean's hand sliding up to lightly stroke her breast. She thought at first that he simply must not be paying attention, but his mouth finding her neck and nibbling her skin made her realize that he certainly knew what he was doing.

She tried to squirm away from him, but he was suddenly on top of her, pinning her down with all of his weight. He kept one hand pressed over her mouth and the other gripped both wrists tightly above her head.

His mouth wandered over her neck and down to her breasts, the touch of his lips easily felt through the fabric that wasn't really fabric at all in her mind. She felt him pressing against her through his shorts and was repulsed, knowing that he was going to try to make love to her while Wade was still in the house…and for what? Some misguided notion of revenge and superiority? She suddenly hated him with every last ounce of strength she had.

It must have shown through her eyes, because when he caught sight of her glowering at him he stopped. He waited until the front door had shut and the house had fallen silent once more before removing his hand from her mouth.

"Would you like to lodge a protest?" He asked mockingly.

"Yes," she hissed. "This is neither the time nor the place."

He laughed, reaching for her breasts again. "I can think of neither a better time nor a better place," he countered. "You are the only entertainment I have in this room, and I am certainly ready to be entertained by you."

He took her hand and guided it down to the bulge in his shorts. "I want you," he said simply, "and I want you now." He pressed his lips to hers before she could protest again, even as her hands beat feebly at his shoulders. "Let me kiss you and make it up to you," he murmured in her ear, trying to pry her thighs apart.

"This is _not_ something you can 'kiss and make up' about, Dean!" She yelled suddenly, slapping him hard in the face. He looked down at her, momentarily stunned. "You _murdered_ people! And you want me to stay by your side? Even as you use me for your own entertainment, even as you hunt me down and chase me and tell me I can never leave? How am I supposed to come to terms with something this enormous when you treat it like a joke?"

Anger bloomed in his chest, but he forced himself to let go of her. "You're right," he replied through clenched teeth, backing away from her. "You're right, but I am damned angry about it," he admitted. "In truth, it just makes me want to pin you down and fuck you more than I did a minute ago."

"Don't," she said. "If you want any hope of me trusting you ever again, don't."

He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He needed to get out of this room before he did something he regretted. Standing abruptly, he unhooked the locking mechanism on the back of the bookcase and flung the door open.

Without a second glance back, he slammed it shut and made his way down the stairs, hunting down his tool kit.

She had cautiously opened the door and made her way into their bedroom before he came back, and he grabbed her by the arm to fling her into the room. Shutting the bookcase once again, he flipped the molding up and pounded four nails into it to hold the door in place.

Moving to the second bedroom, he repeated the process.

"Does that prove to you just how _humorous _I find this whole situation?" He yelled through the wall. "You stay there until I'm ready to let you out. Take that time to try and find a way to cope, _darling_, because otherwise it will be a long, miserable life."


	59. Chapter 59

Molly heard the pounding against the bookcase and froze. She wasn't quite sure what was happening until he moved into the second room and the process repeated itself. She then listened intently to Dean's words, cringing at his declaration that this relationship would be for the rest of her life.

She waited several moments in silence before trying to reach out to him, hoping that his temper had cooled slightly.

"Dean," she called, knocking lightly on the wall.

"What?" He snapped. His anger was still up.

"Can we please talk about this?"

"I wanted to talk. You wanted to sleep, and then you wanted to run. You had your chance, Molly. Now you can sit in there and wait until I'm ready to let you out."

"I-"

"Shut _up_, Molly!" He exploded behind the wall, his fist slamming into it several inches from her head. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

She scurried away from the wall, bringing her knees to her chest and holding herself tightly. She expected to hear the sound of nails popping at any moment, and to be joined by her furious husband. Instead, she listened intently as his footsteps padded away from the wall and the bed springs groaned as they took his weight.

Finally, after several long moments, she lay down as well. Wrapping the blankets around her body, she resolved not to think any further until she slept. She was as safe as she was probably ever going to be right now, and she needed to rest if she had any hope of getting out of this mess.

She slept lightly, tossing and turning and waiting to hear Dean return. She was waiting for him to decide that she wasn't actually his salvation and drag her away to end her life…but he didn't.

As the sun began streaming through the porthole window, she tentatively knocked at the wall again. "Dean?"

"What?" He sounded awake and unhappy.

"I need to use the bathroom."

He groaned, and she heard him stand up, his footsteps gradually leaving the room. After several moments they returned and she listened with a mixture of fear and relief as he popped the nails in the door.

He poked his head in and stared at her for a moment. His eyes were puffy and his jaw set in a hard line – his night had been just as difficult as hers. Watching her carefully, he set a bucket on the floor.

"Best I can do."

She looked at him with her nose crinkled in disgust. "There is a bathroom downstairs. That is not the best you can do."

"How do I know you won't run?" He countered. "This is the best I can do, Molly. Take it or leave it."

She looked at him unhappily. "Can we please talk about this now? Please?"

He stared at her for several minutes before gesturing to the bucket. "Unless you want me to leave it in here with you once you're done, I suggest you hurry up."


	60. Chapter 60

It had been a long, frantic evening of searching, and Molly was nowhere to be found. Wade mentally went over the night unhappily, attempting to think of some unsearched place that they might be – because he was now certain that Ambrose had her.

"God fucking damnit," he muttered, shaking his head. Why hadn't he just stayed with her? How was it possible that he had made the wrong choice yet again? Every turn he made was the precise opposite of what he should have done, in spite of his careful consideration. How on Earth did this keep happening?

"Any luck?" Sheamus' voice broke into his thoughts. He hadn't even heard him come in.

"None," he replied roughly. "Her house, Doc's house, her father's house…she's not there. She's not anywhere." He looked up at his friend. "He has her."

Sheamus sunk into the chair across from him. "That's what I'm afraid of as well," he admitted, running his hands through his bright red hair.

A hot burst of anger flared up in Wade's chest. "Why didn't you tell me what Ambrose was?" He snapped. "This all could have been avoided."

Sheamus glanced up at him, surprised. "Don't you think I've asked myself that a hundred times by now? In case you missed that fact, I care about Molly just as much as you do."

Wade snorted derisively. "I highly doubt that."

Sheamus' face began to turn as red as his hair. "I never put her out on the whim of my bitch wife," he growled. "I took her in when she needed a place to go. I took care of her and didn't take advantage of her, unlike both you and Ambrose."

"Only because you weren't man enough to seal the deal," Wade snapped back, barely conscious of the words he was saying. "Why would a woman like Molly want a bumbling fool like you?"

Sheamus stood. "Probably because I'm the only man in her life who has consistently been kind to her. That's precisely what she told me."

Wade stood as well. "Kind to her, yes. Did she pat you on the head like a good little dog, too?"

"No, she kissed me!" Sheamus retorted. "I didn't ask for it. I didn't chase after her. She just kissed me, all of her own accord."

"When?" He asked, feeling his stomach hit bottom as his temper cooled down. "When did she do that?"

Sheamus shook his head, obviously still agitated. "This is not the time to discuss that. We need to find her. Then we can dick around and compare notes. Stop focusing on how you feel about her, for Christ's sake, and be a man and find her so you can tell her yourself."

Still angry beyond belief and feeling ashamed that he'd allowed himself to get involved in such a petty tussle, Sheamus turned and walked out the door. He wasn't sure where he was going yet, but it would be better than standing in that room and admitting how helpless he felt.


	61. Chapter 61

After the embarrassing incident with the bucket, Molly elected to simply sit and wait for Dean to come to her. She refused to ask him for anything else, and she refused to speak with him again. It was stubborn and perhaps a bit childish, but she felt she had exhausted all other possibilities.

She tried so hard to keep her thoughts away from this situation, but found her mind returning to it over and over again. Her brain worked furiously on various plans for escape, none of which were actually feasible.

She shook her head. The best way to get out of this mess would be to leave with Dean. Once they were away, once his guard was down, she might be able to escape unscathed.

These thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the wall. "Are you all right in there?" Dean called in. "You haven't said anything in a while."

No. She would not answer him. She refused to believe that her only choice was to play nice with a lunatic. She would find another way.

"Molly?"

She slowly rested her head on the pillow, attempting to keep the noise from her movement to a minimum. Let him worry.

"Are you hungry?" He pressed. She remained silent. "Do you need a drink?" She rolled her eyes, trying to keep herself from being afraid. This could be a very dangerous proposition, but she needed to feel some sense of control. "Are you alive?"

When she didn't answer this question, his footsteps rapidly moved towards the door and she heard the nails popping out. She briefly considered that the molding must be in terrible shape by now before realizing that she was shortly going to be trapped in a tiny room with an angry man.

Rolling her body away from the door quickly, she curled her body up and closed her eyes, hating herself every second.

Dean stepped into the room and froze. She could feel his eyes crawling over her, and she forced her breathing to be deep and even. She was afraid for a moment that he would see through the ruse, but to her surprise he simply shut the door.

She nearly opened her eyes until she heard his footsteps behind her and felt the mattress sink as he sat beside her.

His fingers lightly ran down her shoulder, and she forced herself not to pull away.

"Molly," he said tenderly, gently shaking her.

She groaned, not needing to pretend at being irritated by the disturbance. She moved closer to the wall, hoping that he would leave her be. Instead, he joined her and pressed his body against hers. He started to stroke her hair away from her neck, dotting soft kisses along her back. She felt his hand slowly, steadily moving up towards her breast and she desperately wanted to stop him but still didn't want to speak with him.

Due to her indecision, his hand engulfed her breast completely. "Molly," he repeated, his voice full of longing as he squeezed her breast. "Molly, please."

It was enough for her. She reached up and plucked his hand away, placing it back on his own body. "No, Dean," she said clearly. "Leave me be."

He actually whimpered. A grown man, whining like an animal. How pitiful.

"I can't," he replied, his hand finding her breast again. "I need you." His tongue darted into her ear, stroking along the lobe before his teeth found the fleshy part and lightly bit. Her nipples hardened at the sensation, and he groaned against her ear.

His hand slipped away from her briefly, returning to his own body as he pulled away from her slightly. When he pressed against her again, she could feel his naked flesh against hers. Taking her leg, he draped it back over his own and began stroking her exposed sex.

Molly bit her lip against the sensation, willing her body not to respond – but it still did, and when she was thoroughly aroused Dean plunged into her. She barely managed to bite back a moan, hating her mind and her body for being at odds in how they felt about this man.

"I spent all night," Dean began casually, his voice guttural as he slowly slid in and out of her, "and all morning thinking about our little issue. I believe I know what I need to do to convince you of my sincerity."

He slid his hand down to rub her in a circular motion while he thrust, and she couldn't suppress the small sigh of pleasure that slid from her lips this time.

"Would you like to know," he asked, his breath coming out in pants as he punctuated each word with a thrust, his fingers speeding up to match his rhythm, "what I'm going to do to show you that you're different?"

The words pushed through her head and while she understood them, she was entirely incapable of providing a thoughtful answer. She pressed back against him, her traitorous body shaking, and she begged him to push harder, deeper; to rub faster.

With a small laugh, he obliged her and held out while the spasms of her orgasm passed. Finally, when she had settled, he bent and kissed her temple and revealed his grand plan to her.

"I'm going to put a baby in you," he whispered as he thrust one last time, filling her.


	62. Chapter 62

In spite of the haze that had fallen over her mind during her bout of physical pleasure, those words snapped her back into reality and made her blood run cold.

"A baby?" She whispered.

Dean mistook her tone of terror for one of wonder as he nestled into her body. "A baby," he confirmed, stroking his hand over her midsection. "It's perfect, isn't it? We can redeem ourselves, redeem each other – we can make sure our child doesn't go through the same heartache we did."

"I…." Molly swallowed hard. She needed to tread carefully. "I don't think I'm ready, Dean."

His hand stopped abruptly, and she prepared herself for his anger. It didn't come.

"You," he said sternly, "are going to be the perfect mother. If anyone in this world is equipped for a child, it's you." He kissed the side of her head gently. "I know that it's frightening," he continued in a low voice, "but it's the right thing to do. Can't you feel that?"

"No," she admitted.

"You will. Once you've had your time to come to terms with everything. We'll be happy, love."

She contemplated this for several minutes before slowly turning around. "If we're going to have a baby," she started, forcing herself to wrap her arms around Dean's neck, "I don't want to stay in London."

He actually breathed a sigh of relief. "I've wanted to suggest that since I came home, but I didn't know how open you would be to the idea." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Spain?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't want to be in a country where I don't know the language with a newborn child. What if the baby is sick? I'll need to communicate with the doctor."

He nodded in fervent agreement, happy that she seemed to be on-board with his plan. "Then where? Where would you like to go?"

She thought quickly, amazed that this was actually working. "Ireland," she blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think we might eventually run into someone we know there?"

She shook her head. "You know where Sheamus and his friends spend their time, having been there once. You know the lay of the land. We both know the language. Besides," she swallowed hard, lightly stroking the back of his neck, "it has special meaning for us."

"How?"

She moved closer to him. "After you came home from your trip there, we made love for the first time. Don't you remember? Ireland brought us together."

A smile spread on his lips, but he abruptly pulled it back. "What's changed your mind this morning?"

Her heart began racing in her chest – this was the question she'd been dreading. Despite that, her voice was calm as she responded. "I told you yesterday that I wanted to work things out with you. I just needed time, Dean. I still need time, but to know that you want a child with me…it helps me believe that you're serious about us." She shrugged. "We just need to get the circumstances right so we can start trying."

He studied her for a moment. "You're sure?"

She nodded slowly. "I still…I'm still frightened, terribly frightened and confused. That will take time to overcome. But I'm ready for a new start. I'm ready to try to live a normal life as an unbroken person." This was the truth, but Dean wouldn't know that she was referring to a life both away from London and away from him.

His smile flickered as he tried to hide his happiness. "Ireland," he agreed, leaning forward to kiss her. "Let's leave tonight."


	63. Chapter 63

Dean had insisted on making love to her again before dropping off into a happy slumber, but Molly wasn't so fortunate. Her brain would not allow her to rest.

She'd gotten him to agree to Ireland. Now what? How could she clue Wade or Sheamus in on her whereabouts? How long would she have to wait for a rescue?

Would she even need a rescue?

She glanced over at Dean curiously. How hard would it be for her to get away from him unassisted? She held her breath for a moment as her next thought came – would she want to get away from him at all?

When Dean had been stable, they had settled into an easy routine. She could admit to herself now that at that time, she had enjoyed being a wife. She had even begun to develop a small amount of affection towards him – not love, certainly, but she cared for his well-being.

If they removed all of the outside irritations – the drinking, the fighting, Wade – could they return to that simple, happy routine?

Could she actually forgive him for these grievous sins?

She contemplated this for several minutes before shaking her head unhappily. She couldn't. She would always be afraid for her safety, and to have a child with this man? What if that angry voice told him to save his child by washing it clean? It was a risk she refused to take with her own life, never mind that of a prospective offspring.

So, that settled that – she needed to leave. No, it was more than that – she needed to vanish completely if she wanted any hope of a normal life. She had to go somewhere he wouldn't ever think to look for her.

Briefly, she considered Chicago. Mr. Brooks had seemed…not nice, but agreeable at the very least. He might take her in. Then again, he might not. And even if he did, was that a life she truly wanted for herself? She would once again be embroiled in a fighting ring, and she wasn't entirely sure that her life would return to normal in that environment.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"You're agitated," Dean said in a thick voice, startling her. He sounded amused. "Why?"

"I'm just trying to think ahead for our trip," she lied. She was getting quite good at being convincing. "I'm nervous," she surprised herself by admitting.

He lightly trailed his fingers between her breasts and down her stomach. "Why is that?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

"You can tell me." He bent and kissed her forehead. "I won't be upset."

She had a feeling that if she told him the truth, he would absolutely be upset. She elected for part of it instead. "I'm leaving everything I've known behind. I'm leaving my safety net. It's just going to be you and I."

He hesitated a moment. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

She turned to look at him. "I don't know." She felt her eyes filling with tears. "I am so frightened of you." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she thought them consciously.

He closed his eyes briefly and pulled her closer to him, tucking her head beneath his chin and stroking her back. Several times he opened his mouth, but he found no words. He had no way to soothe her; no way to alleviate her pain and her anguish.

Finally, he pulled back from her. "What would make you happy?" He asked. "I'll do anything you ask."

She swallowed hard. "No," she whispered, shaking her head, "you won't."

His heart leapt up in his chest as he realized what she was saying. "I can't leave you," he agreed, "so I won't do that. But anything else in my power – simply say it, and it will be done."

Her face screwed up in concentration. "I want to say goodbye to Wade," she finally answered. "I want him to know that I am all right."

Dean bit his lip. How the fuck was he going to get this done?

"Does it need to be done in person?" He asked, a stroke of brilliance overcoming him. "Or can you write him a letter?"

She thought about this briefly. She preferred to see him again, of course, but it might be easier to conceal her true purpose by being agreeable.

"A letter would be just fine."


	64. Chapter 64

The letter came hand-delivered to the house a week after he had started his fruitless search for Molly. He recognized her handwriting instantly and tore the envelope open with shaking hands.

_Dear Wade,_

_ By the time this reaches you, I will be starting a new life in a different country._

_I realize that this must be difficult to accept, and I am sorry for giving you the news in this way. Dean and I thought it would be best to avoid a confrontation._

_Please do not doubt my great affection for you. Every moment I spent in your company was a joy, and you enhanced my life so very much simply by being in it. I came alive the moment I met you, and I will be forever grateful for that moment – it changed my life forever, and mostly for the better. I was able to meet and befriend so many interesting people. Doc and Drew and the Irishman will forever be in my heart. I will be reminded of them in all of the little things I do, in all of the things I will see and hear daily._

_It pains me to leave you behind, but it is something I must do. I made a vow to love and honor my husband, through all the trials and tribulations in life, and it is a vow that I take seriously. Dean knows my affection for you and graciously allowed me this last goodbye. I hope you can see through this action that he genuinely cares for me._

_Please don't worry. I will have a good life, long and happy and full of children and laughter. After all of our (mis)adventures, I will admit that a quiet life is something I am looking forward to tremendously._

_Please say my goodbyes to my friends. I shall miss them all dearly, especially the Irishman. Please let him know that he in particular was my savior more often that he knew, and I will always consider his heart my home._

_For you, my darling, I wish nothing but happiness. Leave that vile woman and find someone who loves you. You are an extraordinary man, and I could not have hoped for a better first love. You will always carry a piece of my heart with you._

_Affectionately yours,  
Molly_

He read through it a half-dozen times, hoping each time that the words would somehow change and she would be telling him that she was coming home, coming back to him.

They did not.

He crumpled the paper angrily in his big hands, hating Ambrose more than he ever had before that moment. He had taken Molly's goodness, her sweet nature, and twisted it to suit his needs. He had the audacity to remind her of her wedding vows to him? Wedding vows he'd forced her to take?

He needed a drink.

He threw the paper on his desk, wanting to part with it desperately but unwilling to throw her last words away so easily. He sat and drank in a black mood, his mind returning over and over again to the oddness in her letter.

Furrowing his brow and downing the last of his drink, he stood to read it one last time.

"Doc, Drew, and the Irishman…" he muttered. "That's strange. Why refer to the others by name but Sheamus in such a way?" He traced his finger down. "There it is again – the Irishman. 'I will always consider his heart my home.'" He paused. "Always consider…."

The realization dawned on him, and he actually smiled. "Molly," he laughed with delight. "You are too smart for your own good."


	65. Chapter 65

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your reviews, Tweets, Tumblr posts (looking at you, Miss Claudine) and everything else you've done to let me know that Molly's story holds your interest in some way!_

_Sadly, we are nearing the end of her tale now - a few more chapters should wrap everything up, but I think (and hope) you'll be surprised by the end. However you might feel about it when it's up, know this - I have planned it this way from the start. It might have taken some interesting turns along the way, but they were always pushing towards this end._

_Enough of my babbling - ENJOY!_

* * *

Dean had certain expectations about his fresh start with Molly. He had expected there to be a difficult 'settling-in' period, which there absolutely was. He had expected there to be a 'slightly frosty' period where she was still unsure of him and was subsequently a bit cold – that he had experienced in abundance.

Where the expectations became divorced from reality was following this point. He had expected that she would slowly start to warm to him, warm to the idea of a family and a home. This had not happened, in spite of his best efforts.

He tiredly rubbed his hand over his face as he walked towards his front door. It had only been three weeks; he needed to give her a little more time. The fact that she was here with him spoke volumes.

Walking in, he found Molly and placed a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Do you think you can unlock me now?" She asked by way of greeting.

He rolled his eyes, but reached into his pocket for the key that would unlock the chain wrapped around her ankle. He gave her enough slack to move about the house, but nothing further. He couldn't risk her leaving while he was gone.

"Hello darling," he said snidely as he bent to insert the key into the lock. "My day was just fine; how was yours?"

She didn't answer, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. This irritated him to no end, and when he stood he grabbed her roughly by the hair. "If you weren't such a bitch," he said low in her ear, "I wouldn't have to keep you locked up."

"I don't believe that," She snapped. "You'd do it anyway. No matter what I do. That's your sickness."

He pulled his hand back and slapped her on the behind, hard. "You don't speak to me like that. Don't forget your manners."

She glowered angrily at him, but said nothing further. He released her hair. "You're in a foul mood today. You'd better find a bit of sunshine, love, before I really lose my temper." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She did not move.

Annoyed, he wound his hand in her hair again and yanked her face around so that her eyes met his. "You'd better start being nice," he warned. "Today's not the day."

The anger went out in her eyes and she simply looked resigned. He knew that he should have been worried about that, but he found that he didn't care beyond the fact that it meant she would behave for him now.

"Be nice to me," he murmured, pressing his lips against her temple and allowing his free hand to slide down the curve of her hips. "I need you today."

She closed her eyes, her expression momentarily blank, and then surprised him by kissing him lightly on the mouth. Slowly, she turned her whole body towards him and pressed against him. He looked down at her, curious.

"I need you today, too," she said, resting her head against his shoulder. "I'm so tired of being miserable, Dean. I'm ready to be a family."

He exhaled with palpable relief, bending to kiss her over and over again before taking her hand and leading her up to their bedroom.


	66. Chapter 66

"Where are you going?" Abigail demanded from behind him. Wade pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't have time for this.

"I know where Molly is," he said gruffly, continuing to shovel clothing into his suitcase. "I'm going to go get her."

"And then what?"

He turned to look at his wife for the first time. She genuinely looked concerned, her hand pressed against her stomach and alarm on her face.

"Then you'll finally have your wish, my darling – you'll be free of me."

She swallowed hard and, to his surprise, came to sit on the edge of the bed. He studied her for several seconds, even though he was tempted to continue on with his vague approximation of packing.

"What is it?" He snapped impatiently.

"I know I don't have any right," she said, her voice shaking, "but I must tell you that I wish you would stay."

He laughed bitterly. "Are you drunk?"

"N-no, I am not drunk."

He took a closer look at her. She was paler than usual, dark circles ringing her eyes. "What's wrong with you? I thought you'd be overjoyed. You can have as much male companionship as you want now, all without pretending to feel guilty."

"I haven't been with another man in months, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm sure you can't say the same about your little Molly," she snapped.

He bit back a smile. "So that's what this about. You can go fucking everyone across the countryside, but I make love to a woman I now intend to spend the rest of my life with and I'm the villain in your little story." He shook his head. "When are you going to grow up, Abigail?"

"Rather soon, I'd expect."

He closed his suitcase, using his elbow to hold it shut while he fastened it. "Oh? And why is that?" He asked absently.

"I'm going to be a mother."

The words pierced his heart immediately, and his head shot up to regard her. "What?"

She had the good sense to look away. "Doctor Callahan confirmed it yesterday," she said in a small voice. "He said I'm about three months along now."

He didn't know what to say. Finally, the realization of the purpose behind her odd behavior dawned on him. He sat down abruptly, his heart pounding against his ribcage. "Who…" he cleared his throat, attempting to keep his voice strong. "Who is the father of your child?"

"I told you," she said in a low voice, looking up to meet his eyes. "I haven't been with anyone else in months."


	67. Chapter 67

Dean couldn't help himself; he wrapped his hand tightly around Molly's neck. To his great surprise, she moaned and pushed her body against his, and he thrust deeper into her.

These last few weeks had been blissful, he thought as he lightly squeezed her neck. Then all thought was gone and it was only the two of them entwined together in desperate pleasure.

He fell beside her, panting, and instinctively pulled her body into his, kissing the top of her head. She reached for his hand and wove their fingers together before resting her head on his shoulder.

After several moments of basking, he reluctantly brushed her hair out of her eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I have to go soon," he murmured against her skin. The menial job he'd picked up when they had arrived seemed more bearable now that his home life was happier.

She yawned quietly. "I know." Turning her face up, she kissed him lightly on the lips. "Try to have a good day today."

He couldn't keep a small smirk from his lips. "After the way it started out, I think I'll manage to do just that."

She rolled her eyes and good-naturedly gave him a light slap on the chest. "You're terrible," she teased.

He grabbed her suddenly and kissed her fiercely. "Do you think you're ready to start trying yet?"

There was no question as to what he meant. Since their relationship had reached its uneasy truce several weeks before, he had been persistent about getting her pregnant. In truth, the last thing Molly wanted right now was a baby. She lived in constant fear that the role she played of a good, loving wife wouldn't be enough and that he would slip and hurt her again. She couldn't handle the additional stress of a child.

Her face didn't betray any evidence of these thoughts, however. She instead looked at him and, biting her lower lip, nodded slowly.

The grin that broke out on his face broke her heart, but she steeled her resolve. She would not stay out of pity; she would never again put the needs of a man in front of her own. What she needed now, more than ever, was to be assured of her safety. She had never and would never feel that way with Dean.

The answer was obvious, but the solution was still difficult to put into motion. Dean had allowed her to roam free around the house this past week, but she had stayed. Partially because she wasn't sure yet where to go, but mostly because she was certain he was watching her and waiting to see if she left. Her suspicions had been confirmed two days ago when he mentioned staying behind that first day. She had briefly stepped outside, turning her face up to the rainy sky and simply enjoying her freedom. He'd smiled as he discussed the blissful expression on her face.

She had been exceedingly cautious since then, certain that he was still watching. She hoped that by agreeing to have a child, he would let his guard down and she could slip away. There was still, however, the issue of precisely where she would slip _to_.

She had convinced Dean to settle close to Dublin, which she knew to be Sheamus' home city. He had initially been set against the idea, but she had cajoled him into it with the quick assurance that if she were to leave, it would be of her own free will. No man could simply come and take her without her consent. To her great surprise, he had agreed - he said it was a show of his trust in her, but the moment they were separated during the day he'd begun chaining her in the house, so she felt his words were slightly hollow in that regard.

Her mind flew desperately through her options, which were few and undesirable. The best plan she had was to simply walk around Dublin and pray that Wade hadn't been too dense to understand her meaning. The chances of bumping into him were slim, but she had to try. It was her only option.

Dean interrupted her thoughts with a soft kiss on the neck. "You're far away," he said gently, although she could sense the worry behind his voice.

She nodded. "I am. I can't believe that we finally made it here," she told him, covering his hands with hers. "It seems so strange."

"Good or bad?"

She turned and gave him a small smile. "Good."

His smile was full of relief as he bent and kissed her again. Shortly, his hands began wandering happily over her before he broke away panting.

"I really do have to go," he murmured reluctantly.

She laughed and leaned up to kiss him. "Tonight," she promised, "we'll get our new lives started."

He never dreamed that she meant she would be gone when he came home.


	68. Chapter 68

After another long day of slogging through ultimately useless information, Sheamus retired to his favorite pub for a pint.

It had been a week since his arrival in Dublin based on Wade's letter from Molly, and he'd heard nothing of either her or Ambrose. He refused to give up on his search; he simply didn't know where to go from here.

For the thousandth time, he wondered what urgent business could have kept Wade away from Ireland once he knew Molly was here. He'd been determined to go, and go alone at that, but something had stopped him dead in his tracks.

He mentally rolled his eyes as the bartender handed him his drink. For a man that claimed to be in love, he certainly left his beloved hanging out to dry rather often…and left him to pick up the pieces. Not that he minded with Molly, of course. If it had been Abigail, it may have been a different story. He at least could tolerate Molly.

Who the hell was he kidding? He was crazy about her. He'd been annoyed initially when Ambrose had taken her, but as he'd gotten to know her…she was positively lovely; sweet and quiet, but with a sharp wit that could be surprisingly biting. He felt that she was far more intelligent than he could ever hope to be, but that didn't intimidate him – on the contrary, it made him feel secure. He'd never be allowed to make a stupid decision as long as she was around.

All except for the stupid decision of letting his heart fly towards a woman who was not only once, but twice occupied. She hadn't been able to prevent that one, unfortunately, and he would suffer from the effects of this stupid decision for the rest of his life.

Well. Now that he was in a particularly foul mood, he gulped his pint down hastily and stood to leave, getting ready to wander throughout the streets aimlessly until he could stand to be around people again. Then he'd drink himself into a stupor, singing along with his bar mates and perhaps fighting one of them if he got too mouthy.

He turned to leave and caught a glimpse of a dark-haired beauty through the window, and his heart picked up double-time.

"Can't be," he said, shaking his head and blinking. The girl was just sliding past his line of vision, and he rushed to get out the door. Glancing up and down the street, he searched for Ambrose but didn't find him. His heart sank – he doubted it was Molly, simply walking down the street his favorite pub happened to be on unescorted. The chances were practically nil.

Still…he'd never forgive himself if he didn't at least check.

Thankfully, his legs were much longer than the young lady's and he soon caught up to her.

"Excuse me, miss?" He reached out to lightly touch her shoulder. "You're probably not her, but you look like a friend of mine…."

He expected the woman to turn around and call him a creep. He was, in fact, entirely prepared to make a bumbling apology when the woman spun rapidly around to face him.

Instead, he was staring into the face of Mrs. Molly Parker-Ambrose.


	69. Chapter 69

"Thank God," Molly said shakily, clutching for him desperately. She'd been looking for Wade with little hope, and thus the sudden appearance of her Irish savior made her weak in the knees.

It was over. It was truly and rightfully over.

"Let's get off the street," Sheamus said, gently taking her by the elbow. "Is Dean with you?"

"No," she replied, her mind sharpening out of its state of relief by realizing the danger of her escape being foiled was still very real. "But we have to hurry before he sees that I'm gone."

"We'll leave tonight," he assured her.

"I can't go back home," she said sadly. "It's the first place he'll look."

Sheamus agreed, but the despair in her voice gave him pause. Lightly placing a big hand on her shoulder, he asked – "Are you ok with that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Always," he replied gently. "If you say you're not, I'll take you back there myself. I'll find a way to make it work."

She blinked several times, surprised by his words. "I never want to see him again," she finally answered in a low voice. "If I need to live my life in a different country to make that happen, that's what I'll do."

He nodded. "That is the smarter choice, I think. We can leave tonight."

"Where will we go?"

"I'll take you to Mexico. We told Mr. del Rio about your situation. He's graciously allowed us a safe haven."

Molly leaned heavily on his arm, her legs barely supporting her. They walked in silence for several minutes, neither quite believing that this was reality.

"I wasn't sure I'd ever escape," she finally murmured. "I was sure that I'd be stuck with him for the rest of my life, living in absolute terror and trying to avoid having his child by any means necessary. I…I can't believe it."

Unable to resist, Sheamus lightly placed a kiss on top of her head. "Let go, Molly. You're safe now. I swear it."

She smiled up him meekly. "My great savior," she said gently, standing on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Where on Earth would I be without you?"

He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. "I suspect you'd have managed just fine," he replied, attempting to be soothing. "You're a tough one, Molly Parker. Tougher than you give yourself credit for."

"Can I stop being tough now?" She asked in a small voice. "I've had enough of it for a bit."

He swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat. "I'll be tough enough for both of us," he assured her, patting her arm. "Let's get you somewhere safe until we can leave tonight."

He led her up to the room he'd rented and tucked her into his bed. She looked positively exhausted, and though she tried to fight sleep overtook her in the end. He knew he should leave and start making travel arrangements, but after everything she'd been through he didn't have the heart to make her wake up alone.

He swore, in that moment, that she would never be alone again.

Then he had to laugh at his seriousness. Of course she would – he refused to accompany her to the toilet or into a dress shop. But if she needed him, he'd be waiting right outside.

The realization finally came in that moment that he wouldn't move on, even if it was in his best interest. He would love her for the rest of his life, be her great protector and her most loyal friend, even as his inability to be anything more broke his heart.

The other two men might have believed that they loved her – but this, the sacrifice of his own life and happiness for the sake of her safety…this was truly love.

"An Irishman moving to Mexico," he mused quietly, shaking his head. "The second-degree skin burns will surely make her fall madly in love with me."

He had to chuckle to himself. At least he maintained his sense of humor. It might be the only thing that got him through from this point forward.


	70. Chapter 70

Six months, and Abigail had given birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy. Wade felt a sense of pride sitting in his chest every time he looked at the little lad, and he easily fell into the routine of late night diaper changes and rocking his son back to sleep.

Fatherhood suited him beyond well, and he found himself wondering why he hadn't done it earlier. Then he looked at Abigail and remembered.

That small reminder that his life wasn't quite perfect agitated him, and eventually he tore himself away from being a father in order to make the long trek to Mexico. It had been eight months since they had landed at this point. Sheamus had kindly kept him apprised of their whereabouts, and he was relieved to know that she was safe and generally content. He promised his son that he'd be back as he stood over his crib the night before he left, and he promised himself that he would be bringing Molly back with him.

He didn't care any longer about his reputation or his money. He cared about her, and he would do everything in his power from now on to insure that she was his top priority – after his child, of course.

The journey was long and tiresome, yet uneventful. He did find himself yearning for the comforts of home – even the discomforts of late-night baby wrangling were thoroughly missed – but he kept his priority in mind and that seemed to make it bearable.

Weary, he finally made his way into the estate of Alberto del Rio on a warm June night. He made his pleasant greetings and tried to contain his impatience at del Rio's insistence on introducing him to every single person, including a woman named Carmen – whom he lovingly called "his Molly."

Wade took that as an opening. "Speaking of Molly," he reminded him gently.

Del Rio smiled. "I'm so sorry, my friend; surely you are impatient to see her. Unfortunately, she and Mr. O'Shaunessy have left my employ."

That news startled him. "Do you know where they are?"

"Just up the coast a few days, in California. Molly fell in love with the area, and your smitten Irishman moved Heaven and Earth to build a home for her."

His heart dropped in his throat. "Are they…?"

"No," del Rio answered the question he couldn't finish, "and I doubt they will be, until Molly lets go of her past." He stared him directly in the eyes. "She's a lovely woman. She deserves happiness. Sheamus…he bends over backwards for her. Even if she can't see it, he is the right choice."

"Well no one asked your opinion," Wade snapped.

Del Rio held up his hands. "Of course not. My apologies for intruding. I just spent quite a bit of time with the two of them. I felt I had to say something." He paused. "You can stay here for the night, rest, and leave in the morning if you wish."

Wade wanted to leave, to run away from this nonsense he was hearing, but del Rio had a good point. He accepted his offer and had a terrible night's sleep before beginning his final journey to Molly.

He arrived at the house just as twilight was falling over the coast. He could see both why Molly had fallen in love with the area and why Sheamus had built her a home here – it was truly beautiful. He was almost reluctant to take her away from it.

Almost.

Trudging up to the window, he stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw.

Molly looked like a different woman. The smile on her face was brilliant as she poured Sheamus a glass of wine, playfully swatting at him for some unheard joke. She sat across from him and they spoke animatedly, their mutual pleasure at each other's company obvious.

Even from here, he could see it clearly – he loved her desperately. And even though she held back, she had a great deal of affection for him. Nudged in the right direction, it would blossom into a fierce love.

Tears came to his eyes. He'd lost her. He couldn't take her from this life that made her so happy.

"Damn," he said softly.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?" A familiar voice asked beside him. He turned his head and was surprised, yet not, to see Dean Ambrose standing beside him.

Dean gestured into the window. "Night after night I've stood here, promising myself I'm going to rush in and plunge a knife in his chest. Promising myself that I'm going to go get my wife." He sighed, shaking his head. "I can't. I've never seen her so…alive. She's beautiful and perfectly whole with him. I'd only break her down and hurt her again. For the first time in my life, I can't bring myself to do that."

He glanced over at Wade. "None of that makes sense, does it? I'm a fucking lunatic, aren't I?"

"You are a lunatic," Wade confirmed, "but it makes perfect sense."

Dean nodded. "That's what I was afraid of. I was hoping you'd tell me I was an idiot. We could tussle over her one last time, and the adventure would continue."

Wade laughed bitterly. "Adventure? You have a very strange mind." He paused. "So what now for Dean Ambrose? Back to killing women?"

"Only with charm, and only on my way to Chicago." That answer surprised him, and it was apparent. "She's not the only one who changed. It's time for me to pay the piper. I've been running down redemption all this time, thinking she was it." He shook his head. "She just made me see what I needed to see. Broken doesn't always stay broken. We are not slaves to our past…as long as we confront those demons." He looked over at Wade. "I'm going to go do that."

Wade nodded, surprised. "Good man," he said, genuinely. He extended his hand and Dean shook it.

"And you? Will you break up this happy union?"

He hesitated a moment before shaking his head. "No. No, I don't believe I will. In fact…" he swallowed hard, "I believe I'll give them that little nudge they need."

Dean was quiet for a few moments. "Good man," he echoed Wade's words. They shook one last time and parted, Dean making his way to Chicago and Wade finding his way to a bar.

He thought for a long time about the best way to handle this new development. He drank. He cried. Finally, around dawn, he began writing.


	71. Chapter 71

The letter that changed Molly's life didn't look at all extraordinary at first. It was peculiar, as it didn't have any postage on it, but she paid that little mind as she set it down and made breakfast that morning, intending to get around to it later in the day.

Her life had been so easy and carefree since their arrival in Mexico. Sheamus was the perfect companion – he had such a strong sense of loyalty, and he made her laugh. She could talk to him about anything, and often did.

There had been times where she thought that it might be best for her to abandon her ideas about Wade and begin her life completely fresh with him, but she always quickly talked herself out of that notion. Though as the months continued to tick by with no sign of him, she grew weary.

She knew that Sheamus cared for her. He looked at her with such love; it was impossible not to see. Her heart ached for keeping him so close while not giving him precisely what he wanted, but she found herself being selfish for the first time in her life and choosing her comfort over another's.

Finally, after she had seen him out the door, she sat and rifled through the mail, finally opening that peculiar letter.

_Molly,_

_My apologies for not contacting you prior to this. I've been otherwise engaged, and unfortunately will remain so. I've sent this letter to Mr. del Rio in the hopes that he could deliver it to you._

Well. That explained the odd presentation. Mr. del Rio had likely had a courier bring it by hand. She smiled – what a wonderful man he had turned out to be.

_I have news that I'm certain you will dislike, but I must tell you. Abigail and I have had a son. He is my entire world. I cannot come to retrieve you in Mexico, and even if I could…I don't believe there is a place for you in my life any longer. My family is and will be my top priority from this point forward._

_I'm sorry if that is unnecessarily harsh. I had and do have strong affection for you, and I wish you a life of happiness. To that end, I must encourage you to stay with Sheamus. He is a good man, and he will love you better than I ever could have._

_Please take care of yourself, Molly. You are a wonderful woman who deserves the world. I'm simply sorry that I'm not the man who can give it to you._

_Fondly,_

_Wade_

She sat for several minutes, staring at this piece of paper.

"Fondly?!" She finally hissed, standing up and throwing it down on the table. "FONDLY?!" She let out an agitated yell before dissolving into tears.

All this time, she had been waiting for him. She had been living a half-life, waiting for him to come along and complete the picture. She'd been a fool, thinking for a moment that he'd changed his ways.

A child…with Abigail? She shook her head. It was the confirmation that she'd been nothing more than a side project for him, and that stung her deeply.

Sheamus picked that precise moment to return for some forgotten article and stood in the doorway, stunned at her appearance. Wordlessly, she handed him the letter.

He read it through twice, his lips moving rapidly before he looked up at her.

"Are you-"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "No, I am not all right."

He nodded before offering her his hand. She took it gingerly, and he led her to her bed. Pulling back the blankets, he gestured towards it. Wordlessly, she climbed in, unsurprised when he joined her. He'd often done this when she needed comforting.

She pressed her face to his chest and cried heartily while he held her.

"How could he do this?" She wailed once her sobbing had subsided slightly. "I thought that he loved me."

"In his own way, I'm sure he did," he replied soothingly, starting to rub her back. "Love is different for every person. You know that. He did the best he could."

"Well it wasn't good enough," she snapped. "You've done better for me."

She heard his heart pick up in his chest, and she tried to ignore it – but as she glanced up at him, she saw an odd expression in his eyes.

"I have," he agreed slowly, "so why not love me?"

She swallowed hard, her tears drying up abruptly. "I couldn't…I see you so differently…."

"You could," he pressed gently. "Love is a choice, Molly. You can choose to open your heart or not. And if you see me differently…why did you kiss me that night?"

She looked away. "I kissed you because I wished over and over again that I could love you. You were…are…uncomplicated and kind."

"You could love me, if you let yourself."

She opened her mouth to reply, and he bent down and kissed her roughly, winding his hands in her hair. She kissed him back fervently, pressing herself to him without even realizing what she was doing. It was as if a dam had burst inside of her chest, and all of the emotion she'd kept locked away for these past few months came suddenly flooding out.

They were frantic after that, hastily undressing, everything forgotten but the two of them in this room at this moment, finally pushing towards what they had each wanted for so long but had been desperately afraid to pursue.

She cried out as he entered her for the first time, gripping him tightly. "Don't let go," she begged. "Don't let go of me."

"Never," he gasped before they were beyond conscious thought.


	72. Chapter 72

In the end, Dean was Molly's redemption – even if he didn't live to see it through.

Upon his arrival in Chicago, Phil Brooks happily took his revenge on Dean in a gruesome and brutal way, after which his tortured soul was finally at rest. He died peacefully, with the knowledge that he had truly healed the broken pieces of himself the best he could.

Wade went on to live a long, relatively happy, child-filled life – but not with Abigail. He returned from California and immediately filed for divorce, gaining custody of his son. Abigail, although she had changed, was still not the motherly type. She gave custody freely and happily, leaving Wade to marry a lovely young woman named Emily. They had three of their own children together, three little girls. He named the eldest Molly, in honor of the woman who had been such an instrumental force in changing his life.

Sheamus eventually grew accustomed to the blazing California sun, his skin gaining a faint bronze glow. Until it did, Molly was there to care for him in the ways he'd cared for her throughout their long, strange journey together.

Their happiness was unmatched.

When Molly received a copy of Dean's death certificate – accompanied by a note that simply wished her well, with the initials 'P.B.' – Sheamus insisted on marrying her, in spite of her reluctance to do so. Marriage had, after all, been nothing but trouble for her prior to this point. In the end, she agreed and was relieved to find that, while there were certain downsides, this marriage was entirely different and completely wonderful.

They had two children and several grandchildren, all the while staying in the beautiful seaside cabin Sheamus had lovingly built for her.

Sometimes Molly would reflect on the path that had brought her here, often with fear and wonder. The only prevailing thought that she had after careful consideration was this –

Everything had happened just the way it should have.


End file.
